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ARISTOTELIAN AND PSEUDO-ARISTOTELIAN ELEMENTS 
IN CORNEILLE’S 
TRAGEDIES 


A DISSERTATION 
SUBMITTED TO THE FACULTY 
OF THE GRADUATE SCHOOL OF ARTS AND LITERATURE 
IN CANDIDACY FOR THE DEGREE' OF 
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY 

DEPARTMENT OF ROMANCE LANGUAGES AND LITERATURES 


BY 

ELISABETH MC PIKE 


CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 
AUGUST, 1923 








FOfl.fr*'0H3 


Y 

K 

* 





The following study was originally suggested in a 
course in French Criticism given by Professor i-dwin P. 
Pargan. It has been brought to its present form under 
the untiring direction of Professor William A* Kitze, 

Head of the Department of Romanos Languages and Litera¬ 
tures at the University of Chicago. To Professor witze 
a very special debt of gratitude is due, not only for 
his consent guidance and encouragement during the pro¬ 
gress of this dissertation, but also for the enthusias¬ 
tic interest in graduate studies with which he inspired 
me when I was a student in his classes. 

1 wish to acknowledge also my great indebtedness to 
Professors i. P. Pargan and k. K. ilkins of the Univer¬ 
sity of Chicago, and to Professor H. C. Lancaster of 
Johns Hopkins University, who have very kindly read my 
manuscript and made many valuable emendations and sugges¬ 
tions . 

To 14 . Gustave Laneon, directeur d© locale 1 ? or male, 

X ake grateful acknowledgement of his generous interest 
in my work during the period of my study In Paris. 


Chioago, August 1, 19J23 






- 

£ . *' ■' ' 



AKISTOTKIIAK ASP PSiUPO-AHISIOKLIAK SIEB: BTS 
IB 

COBKEILLS’S TRAGBPIES 

OPTLIIiK 


Introduction: 


Exposition of Plan 

Chapter I 

- 

Aristotle’s Poetics 

Chapter II 

- 

The Italian Critics 

Chapter III 

- 

French Dramatic Theory before Corneille 

Chapter IV 

• 

Corneille’s Early Plays 

Chapter V 

- 

Le Cld - The Quarrel of the C1& 

Chapter VI 

- 

Horace 

Chapter VII 

- 

Cinna 

Chapter VIII 

- 

Polyeucte 

Chapter IX 

- 

Pompee 

Chapter X 

- 

RodoRune 

Chapter XI 

- 

Theodore 

Chapter XII 

- 

Heraclius 

Chapter XIII 

- 

Don Sanche 

Chapter XIV 

- 

Eioomede 

Chapter XV 

- 

Pertharite 

Chapter XVI 

- 

Diecours and Examens 

Conclusion: 

Bibliography 


Summary 
















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ARISTOTELIAN AND PSEUDO-ARISTOTELIAN ELI.ISJ NTS 
IN CORNEILLE’S TRAGEDIES 

Introduction 

A study of the Aristotelian and more particularly 

the pseudo-Aristotelian elements in Corneille’s tragedies 

is of particular interest to students of dramatic theories, 

because the period covered hy these plays, from 1630 to 

1660 approximately, represents the introduction, evolution, 

and final estatlishment of the classic tragedy in France, 

Much has teen written on the ramatie theories of Corneille, 

as is olvlous from the litliography given at the end of this 

thesis. Tut practically all this work (1) has teen tased on 

the critical writings of Corneille, that is, the Examens and 

the three Dlscours of 1660. It must le remembered that what, 

Corneille wrote in the Examens and Dlscours was the result of 

much concentrated study on the Poetlos of Aristotle and his 

Italian commentators. During this long study, Corneille 

learned many things of which he had teen entirely ignorant 

when he wrote hie masterpieces. So that what we read a out 

the Cid, or Horace or Cinna . in the Examens or Piscours . 

gives no reliaile indications as to the dramatic technique 

followed ly Corneille when he wrote those plays. 

(1) cf. Titliography under TBhm, Lemaltre. The works of 
these critics deal with Corneille ’b doctrine as formu¬ 
lated in 1660. 

























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The purpose of the present investigation is to deter¬ 
mine primarily from the lines of the plays themselves Cor¬ 
neille’s interpretation and use of Aristotelian doctrine. 

A final chapter will discuss the critical writings of 1660, 
the amens and Dlscours , as representing a further stage of 
Corneille's dramatic evolution. 

Before beginning our study of Corneille's tragedies, it 
will be necessary to make an analysis of the original Aris¬ 
totelian doctrine, as it exists in the Greek Poetics , and to 
give a brief sketch of the development of this- doctrine by 
the Italian Renaissance critics. It will riot be possible to 
* ive a full treatment of the Italian Poetic Arts , as this 
would carry us beyond the bounds of a dissertation.(1) A 
third chapter will be devoted to the French predecessors of 
Corneille, both as regards their dramatic theories, and as to 
the stage conditions under which they worked. This will cov¬ 
er the period from 1626 (2) to 1629, the date at which Cor¬ 
neille first came in contact with the Republic of Letters and 
its legislators. 

After considering briefly the plays before the Ctd, the 
four great masterpieces (Le Cid, Horace . Cinna . and Polyeucte) , 
will be treated very fully. In the later period, Rodogune , 
Heraclius, and ^icomed^ will be discussed in some detail, 
as having each its individual importance in the development 
of the Cornelian tragedy. Pompee , Theodore , Son Sanehe . and 

(1) Ample bibliographical material will be indicated for 

more detailed study. , 

(2) More exactly 1623, date of Chapelain's Preface de 1' Adone . 




















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Pertharlte will receive much slighter treatment, in propor¬ 
tion to their lesser importance for our purposes.(1) We 
shall close our study of the tragedies themselves with this 
last play lefore Corneille’s long retirement from the stage, 
for those written during the period from CEd lpe to Surena 
add nothing new to Corneille’s practice or theories. 

In the course of this study, we shall establish a curve 
of development in Corneille’s Aristotelianism, loginning with 
the Cid, and rising through the Quarrel of the Cid . up to 
Horace and Cinna, and descending through Polyeucte to Kera - 
cliua and Eodogune . These last two represent the romanesque 
play, of which Corneille was so fond, and to which he inevita- 
lly reverted. Since we are chiefly concerned with the more 
classical elements in Corneille's dramatic system, we shall 
devote most of our study to the period from the Cid through 
Polyeucte . 

(1) Andromode has teen omitted as not teing strictly a 

trage y. It has teen omitted similarly ly Gustave T.an- 
son in his most recent treatment of French tragedy: 
Eequlsse ce la Tragedie ~rancalse . New York, 1920. 
















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CHAPTER I - ARISTOTLE *S PCETICS (I) 

before one can study profitably Aristotle’s theory 
of poetry, it is necessary to understand first the general 
doctrine of "Imitation"• As used in the Poetics , this term 
has reference to Poetic Truth or Verisimilitude, and has 
nothing to do with a slavish copying of models* Nor is the 
imitation of the artist inferior to the original in Nature, 
as Plato had contended, for the artist seeks not to repro¬ 
duce any natural object, lut rather the artistry of Mature. 

In the Aristotelian sense, ’Nature* is "not the world of 
created things, it is the creative force, the productive 
principle of the universe".(£) 

VERISIMILITUDE 

Nature, iowever, is bound by certain material limita¬ 
tions, and can realize only imperfectly her own ideals* It 
is here that Art, Poetic Truth, has its play, for Art is 
able to fulfill Nature’s unfulfilled intentions. Art tran¬ 
scends Nature's imperfect efforts ly realizing, in the world 
of Poetic Truth, those ideas which are submerged by ob¬ 
stacles in the world of reality. To produce perfect results. 
Art must supplement Nature, but in following Nature’s own 

(1) All references to, and uotations from the Poetics are 
taken from the English translation of S. H. Butcher, in 
his volume entitled, Aristotle ’s Theory of Poetry and 
Fine Art , London, 19lTI 
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processes* Here then is the key to Aristotle’s doctrine: 

"it is not the function of the poet to relate what has 
happened, tut what may happen”. (1) It is not necessary 
to have an actual object before your eyes, tut to have an 
idealized image before ;*our mind. Thus it beoomes immedi¬ 
ately manifest that Poetry is a higher art than History, 
since the latter tells only that which has happened, where¬ 
as Poetry tells of that which ought to have happened, accord¬ 
ing to the laws of 'probability o* necessity’.(2) Poetry 
expresses the universal element in human nature, removing 
from it all that is momentary, accidental, and dependent 
upon the imperfections of Nature herself. Prom this point 
of view, the world of actual truth and the world of poetic 
truth are not opposites, but the latter continues the pro¬ 
cesses and methods of Nature, unhampered by chance dis- 
turlances and interruptions. It is at this point that one 
can explain the terms 'letter* and ’ought to be’, so fre¬ 
quently used in the Poetics. They have no reference to a 
moral standard, as was so wrongly interpreted throughout 
the Renaissance and the seventeenth century, but represent 
the fulfillment, to a higher degree, of Nature’s ideal plan. 
In Poetry, the characters must be id<al types, and ”the 
ideal type must surpass the actual”,(3) must be aesthetie- 
ally ’better', more nearly perfect, than the real. 

It is the rigorous following of the laws of Nature 
that Aristotle demands in his re u ire merit of the ’laws of 

(1) Poetics, ch. IX. 

(2) Ibid , ch. IX 

(3) TFTd . ch. XX Y 




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6 


probability or necessity*, or what we now term Poetic 
Truth or Verisimilitude. Tut for the full understanding 
of the ‘probable ? in the Aristotelian sense, we must 
grasp the conception which Butcher has aptly expressed in 
his discussion of the Poetics when he says, ’’the incidents 
of every tragedy worthy of the name are improbable if 
measured by the likelihood of their everyday occurrence,— 
improbable in the same degree in which characters capalle 
of great deeds and great passions are rare".(l) So true 
is it that the *prolable' does not have reference to every¬ 
day life that Aristotle says in one place, "It is prolalle 
that many things should happen contrary to prolability",(2) 
which, when explained, me^ne that in the world of actual¬ 
ity, it is probable that through the incidents of chance, 
many things should happen quite out of harmony with the 
larger probability of the ultimate design of the universe. 
It is these very vagaries of chance that Aristotle would 
reject in Poetry, since they take account of actual, not 
ideal, occurrences. Kot only are the subjects of most 
tragedies improbable in a literal sense, but they are re¬ 
cognized to be fictions. But so far from accepting the 
criticism, Aristotle replies that while such actions never 
occurred, they are in perfect conformity with the princi¬ 
ples and ideals of Kature.(S) 

(1) Butcher, ojo. cit., pp. 16b, 166. (2) Poetics XVIII 
(81 Poetics IX. In addition to the larger application, 
the rule of ‘probability or necessity* deals also, 
more specifically, with the internal structure of 
the poem, and governs the sequence of events, thus 
insuring unity for the whole. Cf. infra , section on 
Unities, p.Ll. 







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From all this It would appear that the Poet should 
never relate actual happenings, and yet all of the heat- 
known Greek tragedies told the stories of their national, 
legendary history. The rule of the ideal truth does not 
exclude the 'real events'; yet only a few of the accepted 
myths can satisfy the demands of Tragedy. If the poet 
represents a real event, it must have an inherent air of 
probability; otherwise it will withstand poetio treatment. 
In creating new subjects, the guiding principle is: "Pro¬ 
bable improbabilities are to be preferred to improbable 
possibilities."(1) This dictum is twice set forth in the 
Poetics.(2) The artist must be skilful in handling fic¬ 
tions, and provided he nowhere violate in the course of the 
tragedy, the fundamental law of Poetic truth, which is 
probability, the whole will be verisimilar and in accord 
with the requirements of the art. Aside from real events 
and carefully constructed imaginary events, the poet may 
also use those legends which have been accepted by the 
people for ages. In this case, care must be taken not to 
destroy the framework of the story, or so alter any of 
the oharacter8 as to make them different from the popular 
conception of them.(3) 

The poet must, then, imitate Kature, not in her 
physical manifestations, but according to her eternal 

1. Poetics XXIV 

2. Poetics XXV 
5. Poetics XX 








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principles, thus carrying out in Art the unrealised ideals 
of Kature. By Mature is understood human nature, and the 
poet should depict people, not as they are, hut as they 
ought to he, thus revealing the universal element in human 
nature. 

KATHARSIS 

Before turning to a discussion of the several parts of 
Tragedy, let us take up now a consideration of the purpose 
served by this particular type of poetry. One of the most 
frequently misinterpreted passages of the Poetics is that 
concerning the function of Tragedy. In the definition 
given in Chapter VI of the Poetics . Aristotle says, "through 
pity and fear effecting the proper purgation of these 
emotions."(1) Since this Katharsis is the end and function 
of tragedy, it becomes at once a pivotal point. In the 
Renaissance it was variously interpreted, hut in general, 
an ethioal purgation was the accepted meaning.(2) Phis was 
the interpretation given by Corneille and Racine, but as will 
be amply proven, it was not the true meaning of Aristotle. 

In fact, Aristotle was the first to express the theory 
that the sole end of poetry is to give pleasure, and sinoe 
Tragedy is the highest form of poetry,(3) it follows that 
Tragedy should give the highest pleasure. This ia nowise 
precludes the possibilities of moral uplift, but this latter 


1 . 

2 . 


3 . 


Poetics VI 

Spingarn, Joel: A gig Wry. Uterar y . Criticism in the 
Renaissance ,2nd edition, Hew York, 1908 ,p.75. Also of. 
Infra,ch.2. 

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should not be foremost in the mind of the poet. Hie function 
is to delight, not to instruct. Aristotle was quite alone 
among the Greeks in this attitude, for poetry had been re¬ 
garded merely as a school of morals. Plato, indeed, banish¬ 
ed from his Ideal Republic all poetry except the strictly 
didactic.(l) In the Poe tic a . no mention|is mad© of an 
ethical influence in poetry, nor is there any oriticism in 
the Poetics based on ethical values. But the type of 
pleasure proper to Tragedy demands that the action and the 
characters be of a higher rather than a lower order. Here 
again, however, it should be remarked that Aristotle does 
not reject absolutely all morally ’bad’ characters. If the 
internal dramatic ’necessity’ requires the presence or 
introduction of a morally depraved character, for the purpose 
of contrast, this is considered sufficient ground for its 
representation on the stage. Through the close relation be¬ 
tween the characters of the drama and its purposes, it is 
very easy to be lead from a purely aesthetic point of view 
to the ethical; and Aristotle is at many points in the Poetics 
dangerously near losing sight of his first tenet.(2) 

Thus it is not remarkable, particularly in view of the 
fact that Horace strengthened the idea of a didactic function 
in poetry(8) that the later critics entirely misconceived 
Aristotle’s original doctrine. It is only through very close 
study that one can analyse Aristotle’s thought correctly. In 
1. Putcher. oo.ci^ »P* 221. 

Horace, Ars Poetica C. 34$0mne tulit punctum qui miscuit 
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fact, it is very patent that even in the mind of Aristotle 
himself, there was no olearly-marked dividing line between 
the different types of superiority, moral or other. In de¬ 
fault of any specific guidance from Aristotle, the Italian 
commentators followed Horace, unconsciously at times, and 
the ethical interpretation became widespread. 

It was not until very modem times that the aesthetic 
interpretation of Aristotle's JCatharsis was given serious 
attention. Bernays(l) in 1857, gave the first elaboration 
of this theory, and by him the term is understood to mean 
that Tragedy exoites the emotions of pity and fear, and by 
the act of excitation, affords a pleasurable relief. This 
pleasure, from the excitation of pity and fear, can oome 
only through purging the emotions of the personal element, 
and raising them to a point of universality. Butcher gives 
a very clear explanation of this idea:(2) "Tragedy is a 

vent for the particular emotions of pity and fear . 

It excites emotion, however, only to allay it. Pity and fear, 
artificially stirred, expel the latent pity and fear which we 
bring with us from real life, or at least, such elements in 
them as are disquieting. In the pleasurable calm which 
follows when the passion is spent, an emotional cure has been 
wrought.” Fairchild, in an article in the Classical Journal 
(3) analyses Hathareis as "a form or type of inner experience 
through which in part we come to know the nature of Tragedy", 

1. Cf. Fernays, Jacob: Zwei Abhandlungen uber die Aristoteli- 
" ache Theorle der Dramas Berlin, 1886. 

2. Ibid, p. 242. 

3. Fairchild, G.H.H. "Aristotle's Doctrine of Katharsis", 
Classical Journal , vol. XII, p. 47. 










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11 


and he too holds that It means "the purification, through 
the aesthetic awakening of pity and fear, of the morbid, 
painful, disquieting element that belongs to these emotions 
as we kno?; them in real or everyday life.* ThiB purgation 
is essentially not ethical, but aesthetic. That this is the 
true meaning of the Aristotelian Katharsis can scarcely be 
doubted, when one realizes that nowhere else throughout the 
Poetios, is there any criticism of a purely moral nature. 

The essence of Aristotle’s doctrine of Poetry is, at all 
times, that the purpose of poetry is to delight. This app¬ 
arent inconsistency was first noted by Castelvetro(l), who 
comments that it is not worthy of the great master of crit¬ 
icism to Lave put Tragedy on a moral basis. Castelvetro 
himself holds generally to the aesthetio interpretation, al¬ 
though he believes himself in contradiction with Aristotle 
on this point. To the mind of the Renaissance critic, the 
term 'purgation 1 oould not be other than essentially ethical. 
Thus the true meaning was lost until the nineteenth century, 
the period of aesthetic awakening. 

Sow as to what arouses this Pity and Pear, in chapter 

XIV of the Poetics . Aristotle says, ’’Fear and pity may be 

aroused by spectacular leans; but they may also result from 

the inner structure of the piece, which is the better way 

and indicates a superior poet. For the plot ought to be so 

constructed that even without the aid of the eye, he who 

1. Cf. infra, oh.X While l.tinturno in 1565 seems to have 
"reali£ecTthat Aristotle had something more than a didac¬ 
tic function in mind, Castelvetro is the first to discuss 
the question. 






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12 


heard the tale told will thrill with horror and melt to 
pity at what takes placo." The incidents themselves must 
then be such as to awaken pity and fear. "Pity," says 
Aristotle, "is aroused by unmerited misfortune, fear by the 
misfortune of a man like ourselves."(1) Let us examine the 
situations which, according to Aristotle, are capable of 
arousing pity and fear. In his own words, "Actions capable 
of this effect must happen between persons who are either 
friends or enemies or indifferent to one another . . • When 
the tragic incident occurs between those who are near or 
dear to one another - if, for example, a brother kills, or in¬ 
tends to kill, a brother, a son hie father, a mother her son, 
a son his mother, or any other deed of the kind is done, these 
are the situations to be looked for by the poetV(2) 

PLOT 

Of all forms of Poetry, Tragedy is the highest, being 
the most imitative, that is, the moat nearly perfect represent¬ 
ation of life. The definition of Tragedy, given in chapter VI 
of the Poetics , begins: "Tragedy is an imitation of an action 
.... in the form of action, not of narrative . • .” It is the 
fact that Tragedy reproduces action by action, that places it a- 
tove Epic; for the purpose of Poetry, as we have seen in our 
section on Katharsie, is to raise the emotions to a point of 
universality. He who witnesses an action, identifies himself 
more readily with the characters before him, than does he who 
merely hears a tale recounted. 

1. Poetics XIII 

2. Poetics XIV 






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Hor must we understand by the term ’Action’ mere exter¬ 
nal phenomena, hut rather those moral qualities which make up 
the phychioal energy of the individual. Incidents and events 
are of interest only as they represent an act of the will, or 
the result of some thought or emotion. Here again there is 
room for misunderstanding. In emphasizing moral qualities, 
one is lead to think of character, hut Aristotle distinctly 
and repeatedly says: "Dramatic action .... is not with a 
view to the representation of character: character comes in 
as subsidiary to the action." (1) Kor is this statement con¬ 
tradicted by another passage in the same chapter of the Poetics 
"an action implies personal agents, who necessarily possess 
certain qualities both of character and thought. It is these 
that determine the qualities of actions themselves; these — 

thought and character - are the two natural causes from which 

action spring: on these causes, again, all success or failure 
depends." (2) At first reading, it would appear from this last 
sentence that character is of first importance, and in fact, if 
we look again at the first quotation, we shall see that Aris¬ 
totle was speaking of a ’representation of character’. The 
dramatic poet should not concern himself with character port¬ 
rayal, but it is inevitable that each act should reveal chara¬ 
cter. As Butcher expresses it (3) "It (the word ’action’) em¬ 
braces not only the deeds, the incidents, the situations, but 
also the mental processes, and the motives which underlie the 
outward events or which result from them." The chief point at 

1. Poetics VI 

2. Poetics VI 

3. Cp. cIt., p. 337. 






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14 


issue is that Drama must depict processes, not states of be¬ 
ing, and must present 'characters in action'. 

How the action of a Tragedy may be long or short - 
Indeed, it may be but the culmination of a particular mood, 
and expressed in & single moment. Aristotle is very care¬ 
ful not to lay down any definite length for Tragedy, simply 
stating that drama is the most beautiful which is the longest, 
provided it is a unified whole, and is not of such a length 
that it cannot be fully retained by the memory. It is ex¬ 
pressly stated in chapter Til, that 'the limit of length in 
relation to dramatic competition and sensuous presentment, 
is no part of artistic theory." This remark seems to have 
entirely escaped the molice of the later commentators.(1} And 
it is only as a comment on the general practice of the Greek 
plays that Aristotle states in chapter T: "Tragedy endeavours, 
as far &b possible, to confine itEelf to a single revolution 
of the sun, or but slightly to exceed this limit." This will 
come up again for longer discussion in the treatment of the 
Unities. 

There are two possible types of Plot, in Aristotle's 
system: simple and complex. While he does not reject the 
simple plan, the whole discussion is devoted to the complex 
plan. (2) "Plots are either Simple or Complex. . . An action 
. . . I call Simple, when the change of fortune takes place 
without Eeversal of the Action and without Recognition. A 
Complex action is one in which the change is accompanied by 

1. Cf. infra, ch.JL. 

2. Toetics 1 





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15 


such Reversal, or by Recognition, or by loth. These last 
should arise from the internal structure of the Plot, so 
that what follows would he the necessary or probable result 
of the preceding action." Here, as in all other parts of 
the Tragedy, care must be taken that this change be brought 
about according to "our rule of probability or necessity.fl)A 
Reversal of fortune is described as "a change by which a 
train of action produces the opposite of the effect intended," 
(8) and Recognition as "a change from the ignorance to know¬ 
ledge, producing love or hate between the persons destined by 
the poet for good of bad fortune."(3) Plots built on the com¬ 
plicated plan are considered the best, and it should be rem¬ 
embered that Aristotle's criticism has always in view the per¬ 
fect tragedy. 

Of the complex plots, four types are distinguished (4): 
The tragic act may be planned in ignorance of the identity of 
the person, but averted by a recognition; it may le carried out 
in ignorance, and the recognition scene would follow; it may be 
carried out with full knowledge of the identity of the person; 
or it may be planned with full knowledge of the person, but 
given up. These varying types are here given in the order of 
Aristotle's preferences. It is not clear why Aristotle should 
prefer the first of these cases, in which the tragic incident 
is averted, for it would seem to lead to a happy ending, which 
is expressly criticized by Aristotle. The order was establi¬ 
shed by Aristotle according to the degree in which each type 
would arouse pity and fear. Surely our pity and fear would 
1. Poetics XI 2. Poetics XI 3. Poetics XI 4. poetics XIV 







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16 


seem to le greater when the tragic incident actually occurred. 
In this we must see then one of the inconsistencies otf the 
Poetics . 

Aristotle specifies likewise that the denouement* 
or unravelling should result from the internal structure of 
the plot: ”... the unravelling of the Plot, no less t*An 
the complication, must arise out of the plot itself, it 
must not be brought about by the Peus ex Machine ."(1 ) It is on 
this ground that Aristotle censures the Medea of Euripides.(2) 

The requirement that the perfect tragedy should have an 
unhappy ending is the result of the theory of the tragic Math- 
arsis. Every requirement in the Poetics is based on the con¬ 
sideration of the ultimate function of Tragedy, to arouse pity 
and fear, and for this an unhappy outcome is necessary. Aris¬ 
totle expressly disapproves that type of ending in which the 
good are rewarded and the wicked punished. This is discussed 
in Poetics XIII: ”In the second rank comes the kind of tragedy 

which some place first,--It has -an opposite catastrophe 

for the good and for the bad. It is accounted the best be¬ 
cause of the weakness of the spectators; for the poet is guid¬ 
ed in what he writes by the wishes of hie audience. The plea¬ 
sure, however, thence derived is not the true tragic pleasure. 
It is proper rather to Comedy, where those who, in the piece, 

are the deadliest enemies -quit the stage as friends at the 

close.” 

CHARACTER 


Seoond in importance to Plot, Aristotle places Character, and 
1. .Poetics XV 2. Poetics xy 












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17 


much time is devoted in the Poetics to the discussion of the perfect 
tragic hero or heroine. We have already quoted the passage from 
chapter VI in which he says that Character is subsidiary to Plot, 
and fcn the same chapter we read also: "Tragedy is the imitation of 
an action, and of the agents, mainly with a view to the action." 

But, as we have said above, it is rather a question of emphasis 
than of fundamentals, for Aristotle recognizes clearly that no act¬ 
ion is possible without displaying traits of character. The crit¬ 
erion for the poet in choosing or fashioning hie characters is that 
they muet be such as to afcouse pity and fear, since this is the 
particular function of Tragedy. For Just as the subject, so also 
the characters, must be chosen according as they will serve the end 
of Tragedy. Aristotle’s first requirement for character is that it 
be good . The poet may not represent " a virtuous man brought from 
prosperity to adversity, for this moves neither pity nor fear, it 
merely shocks us. Now, again, that of a bad man passing from ad¬ 
versity to prosperity," (if since this calls forth neither pity 
nor fear. Cur hero should be more good than bed, - " a man who is 
not eminently good and Just, yet whose misfortune is brought about 
not by vice or depravity, but by some error or frailty." (2) Such 
a character will rouse our pity and fear, since "pity is aroused by 
unmerited misfortune, fear by the misfortune of a man like our¬ 
selves. "(3) 

The only case which Aristotle does not consider, is 

1. Poetics XIII 

2. Ibid. 

3. Itid. 





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18 


that of the gooa man rising to prosperity, hut this would he re¬ 
jected on the ground of the happy ending, which is not proper to 
Tragedy. (1) It is to he noted in passing however, that Aristotle 
recognizes that this type of plot, in which the good are reworded 
and the wicked punished, Is very common and is the favorite with 
the audiences. This statement is significant for the later periods 
of the development of the Drama 

It is at first rather surprising that Aristotle disapproves 
of the perfect hero who falls into adversity, since this would 
seem to call forth most strongly the tragic pity and fear. Yet the 
pity and fear we should feel for the perfect character would tend 
to become merged in, and even submerged by, our sense of admiration. 
While the external ending of a tragedy would be unhappy, the real 
struggle was a moral one, and the blameless, innocent victim of fate 
has triumphed through his super-human Will. (3) 

Aristotle disposes of the villainous, criminal charac¬ 
ter very summarily, but we may perhaps be permitted to analyse the 
situation for ourselves. In the light of those great dramas, since 
Aristotle's time, whioh have depicted criminal characters, one won¬ 
ders if the villain can be presented acceptably to an audience. There 
can be no doubt that the term 'good' used in the Aristotelian text, re¬ 
fers to moral goodness,(4) and yet the real meaning would seem to be 
something between 'good' and 'great' or 'serious*. Had Aris- 

1 ^Poetics XIII. Although Aristotle had before him examples of Greek 

-- tragedies ending hsPpily. he requires an unhappy 

ending for the ideal tragedy. 


3. 

4. 


WlB question is of great importance in connection with Corneille's 
Polyeucte. Cf. infra , oh. VIII, pp. IU,M 
Butcher, op. 


“cit., pp. 234,236 







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19 


totle worked out consistently the aesthetic doctrine he 
founded, we should have expected an elaboration on the 
ideal tragic hero, which we can only supply for ourselves* 

The tragic hero must be raised above the ordinary human type, 
but it is not rather in power than in virtue, in powers of 
intellect or will? It ie the "morally trivial", not the 
"morally bad" that is unbefitting Tragedy*fl) 

While crime in itself has no place in Art, it may 
be so presented as to have tragic dignity. In the words 
of Butcher (2), "Wickedness on a grand scale, resolute and 
intellectual, may raise the criminal atove the commonplace, 
and invest him with a sort of dignity* There i8 something 
terrible in mere will-power working its evil way, and dominat¬ 
ing its surroundings with a superhuman energy. The wreck of 
such power excites in us a certain tragic sympathy; not in¬ 
deed the genuine pity which is inspired by unmerited suffer¬ 
ing, but a sense of loss and regret over the waste or misuse 
of gifts so splendid." But, as Butcher later remarks^), 

"It is what Aristotle ought to have said, not what he says”, 
that is to say, we may assume that in a more complete theory 
of Poetry, Aristotle would have treated these different angles, 
and would have reached such conclusions, as the natural re¬ 
sults of his aesthetic principles. It is only an ethical 
tinge that could reject a Cleopatra or a Medea from the drama, 
and while we have remarked that Aristotle is not at all times 
1. IUd . P.317. 2. Ms -£LLi* pp. 313ff. 


3. Ibid, p. 327. 




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20 


on guard against the moralizing tendencies of hie age, ye 
is significant that Aristotle does not censure Euripides ft 
haring used the story of Medea on any moral grounds* Here 
again, we might remind ourselves that Aristotle was concern¬ 
ing himself only with the perfect tragedy, not with a compre¬ 
hensive view of tragedy as it existed, even in his own time, 
fior can it be too often repeated, that "the contrast is, in¬ 
deed, a curious one between his own tentative manner and the 
dogmatic conclusions based on what he has written.”(1) 

For Aristotle then, the perfect tragic hero Is a man 
of similar characteristics to ourselves, yet sufficiently 
raised beyond the types of dally life, as to excite our sympa¬ 
thies in his larger destiny. He must fall from good fortune, 
through some error or frailty. This latter may be inherent in 
his character, or may be the result of external forces, work¬ 
ing upon the aestinies of the individuals. Of the two, the 
former is the more dramatic, for the final outcome is prepared 
and grows throughout the drama, thus heightening the tragic 
effect. 

As to the treatment of the characters, there are three 

points which must be strictly observed. The poet should aim 

at propriety, should aim to make the character verisimilar, 

and consistent.(2) All three of these requirements are phases 

of Verisimilitude, or Poetic Truth, and may well be translated 

’true to type’, ’true to life*, and ’true to self. Rather 

than follow this order of the Poetics we shall Introvert the 

X. Ibid ., pp. 328, 329. 

2. Poetics XV. 






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21 


first two, sine# 'true to life* covers a larger phase than 
’true to type 1 • The term 'true to life' refers to the 
universality of the character. As in Plot, so too in char¬ 
acter, the poet must avoid the particular, and set in relief 
characters which represent the ideal working-out of Nature's 
laws. The term 'true to life' does not mean the character 
who is most frequently met in everyday experience, tut that 
ideal character who best exemplifies the purpose of human 
nature. Yet the poet must not disregard the law that in pres¬ 
enting characters from history or received legend, he may not 
falsify the characters. He may change minor details to bring 
the facts into acoord with the requirements of his art, but 
he may not uproot popular opinion. People have always had a 
definite conception of Orestes, of Andromache., of Medea, and 
that conception must be fulfilled in the poem. Thus we see 
that many characters must be rejected from the perfect Tragedy, 
since only those figures in history who represent universal 
types are to be admitted, for to be true to life, is to be a 
universal type. 

The second term, 'true to type', requires that a char¬ 
acter should act and speak in accordance with hie sex, age, 
social station, and environment. As an example, Aristotle says 
that a woman should not be made valorous, which is a masculine 
quality. This matter is dealt with but briefly, since it needs 
no particular explanation. It has, however, much significance 
for later Italian and French theory. 

The third requirement in character is 'consistency', i.e., 
a character should be 'true to himself, should act throughout 


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the play in accordance with what he had first teen. However, 
Aristotle recognizes that in real life, there is a type of 
person who is by nature inconsistent - who says one thing and 
does the opposite, or who says one thing now, and the opposite 
five minutes later. This type may he admitted into tragedy, 
hut Aristotle then requires that the character he "consistently 
inconsistent."(1) 

To resume the discussion of Character, we have found 
that in each reouirement, both as to the general qualities of 
the characters, and as to the specific treatment of them, Aris¬ 
totle had in mind the hasio law of Verisimilitude. It is in 
obedience to the larger Truth that the characters must he better 
than ordinary, as only such characters can arouse the sympath¬ 
etic pity and fear of the listener; and it is only by the amal¬ 
gamation of the strong qualities of many and some weakness common 
to many, that a universal figure can be depicted. 

UNITIES 

Before we have completed the analysis of the Poetics , in 
the light of later criticism, it will be necessary to consider 
the Unities, which became of such consummate importance in the 
later period. They receive but slight attention in the Poetics, 
and in fact, are nowhere formulated in the treatise. The 'Unities,' 
as such, do not exist until 1670 when they were first formulated 
as the inseparable three by Castelvetro.(2) 

The only one of the three which is discussed by Aristotle 
is Unity of Action, which is required as the basic principle of 
drematio poetry. This is given place in the definition of Trag- 

1. Poetics XV. 

2. Of. infra , ch. II, p.43. 







, . D ? U , ? 3 *' i 4*Jh* fli 

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• 64«<i .IX .rfo ,r; /xj 





23 


©dy: (1) "Tragedy, then, is an imitation of an action that is 
serious, complete , and of a certain magnitude." and in chapter 
VII, this section of the definition is repeated: "Now, accord¬ 
ing to our definition. Tragedy is an imitation of an action, 
that is complete, and whole, and of a certain magnitude." A 
’whole* is further explained as "that which has beginning, middle, 
and end.” In chapter VIII we read, "the plot, being an imitation 
of an action, must imitate one notion, and that a whole, the 
structural union of the parts being such that, if any one of them 
is displaced or removed, the whole will b e disjointed and disturb¬ 
ed." In chapter IX, also, "Of all plots and actions the episodic 
are the worst. I call a plot ’episodic’ in which the episodes or 
acts succeed one another without probable or necessary sequence." 
This last links Unity of Action with the law of necessity and of 
Poetio Truth. It is because Verisimilitude demands a proper se¬ 
quence of cause and effeot, that Unity of Action finds place in 
the Aristotelian doctrine. A great part of chapters VII, VIII, 
and IX is devoted to the details of this principle. Chapter VIII 
begins: "The unity of action does not consist, as some people 
think, in the unity of hero. For infinitely various are the inci¬ 
dents in one man’s life which cannot be reduced to unity;" and so, 
too, "there are many actions of one man out of which we cannot 
make one action." So important is this principle, that it is one 
of the basic differences between 3pio and Tragedy, and must there¬ 
fore be a primal consideration for the tragic poet. 

We have already seen (2) that Time is mentioned more than 
once in the Poetics . Aristotle's true theory as to the time of 

1. Poeti cs VT- 

2. Cf. StJfrra . ^ 14 







. 

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24 


the action is that "the proper magnitude is comprised within such 
limits, that the sequence of events, according to the law of pro¬ 
bability or necessity, will admit of a change from bad fortune to 
good, or from good fortune to bad."(l) This statement is signifi¬ 
cant, first as showing the close relation between the Unity of 
Time and the Unity of Action; and secondly, as showing the very 
guarded form of Aristotle’s own statement# How far are we here 
from the dogmatic 'rule of twenty-four hours* established and 
successfully imposed by the Renaissance critics# Aristotle takes 
particular pains, in the same chapter, to state that, "the limit 
of length in relation to dramatic competition and sensuous pres¬ 
entment, is no part of artistic theory." At all times, through¬ 
out the Poetics . Aristotle remains the artistic critic, whereas 
we shall find a different point of view in some of the most im¬ 
portant Italian theorists. The sole authority adduced by the 
commentators for their twenty-four hour rule, is the oft-quoted 
sentenoe from chapter V: "Tragedy endeavors, as far as possible, 
to confine itself to a single revolution of the sun, or but 
slightly to exceed this limit." It is to be noted however that 
this comes early in the Poetics, before any discussion has been 
begun as to Tragedy and its parts. The whole of chapter V is de¬ 
voted to differentiating between Comedy, Tragedy, and Epic# The 
limitation of time in Tragedy, common in Greek practice, is given 
as one of the distinguishing marks between Tragedy and Epic 
poetry. Furthermore, the text says, "endeavors # . • • to con¬ 
fine itself. • . ", and the matter is in nowise set up as dogma# 
The word ’endeavors* becomes first ’does* and thence ’must* in the 
1. Poetics VII# 






25 


Renaissance theories, wherein lies the greatest misinterpreta¬ 
tion of Aristotle in this matter.(1) As for Unity of Place, it 
is nowhere mentioned in the Poetics nor in any way suggested. We 
shall discover its origins later in our study. 

RESUME 

This completes our analysis of the Poetics of Aristotle, 
as regards Tragedy. Our next chapter will trace briefly its 
influence on Renaissance criticism. As a last thought, it 
should be remembered that the key-note to Aristotle’s theory is 
nature and Reason, in the guise of Verisimilitude. It is due to 
a lack of comprehension of this principle that most later critics 
and commentators unknowingly distorted the original sense of the 
Poetics . Prom a doctrine which worked towards Universality in 
Art, was deduced a set of rules which lead to a very particular¬ 
ised form of Art, which was to endure for nearly three centuries. 


1, Cf. infra , ch. II, P* 4-2, 







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26 


1629 

1636 

1648 

1660 

1664 

1666 

1669 

1661 

1663 

1663 

1570 


1613 


CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE OF POETIC ARTS 
IN THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE (1) 

Trissino, 0. G.: Poetics , Pts. I-IV 

Danlello: Poetics 

Rotortelll, F.: In Llbrum Arietotells de Arte Poetlca 
Explloatlones 

j.y i i 

Maggi, V.: Edition of Aristotle’s Poetics 
Giraldi Cinthio: Plscorsl 

Fracastoro, G.: Naugerlus , slve de Poetlca Dialogue 

Minturno: De Poeta 

Scallger, J. C.: Poetlces Llbrl Septem 
Trissino, G. G.: Poetlca , Pts. 7, VI. 

Mlnturno: Arte Poetlca 

Castelvetro: Poetlca A’ Art a to tela rulgarlzzata et epoata 


Heinslus, D.: De Tragedies Constltutione 


Only those works are mentioned to which some reference 
will he made In the te*t of the present study. 
































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27 


Chapter IX—Horace and the Italian Critics 

Between Aristotle and the Italians, we should make at 
least brief mention of Horace's Are Poetics , which, although not 
a complete or formal treatise on peetry, was held in high esteem 
during the Renaissance. Differing greatly from the Poetics of 
Aristotle, its influence was nevertheless as widespread as that of 
the Greek treatise, and it necessarily gave rise to other interpre¬ 
tations, some of which were in direct opposition to Aristotle's 
doctrine. 

On Plot, Horace follows Aristotle: "You that write, must 
either follow tradition, or invent such fables as are congruous to 
themselves.” (1) The term 'congruous' denotes the same thing as 
the Aristotelian 'necessary or probable*. As applied to a subject 
of the poet's invention, the terra means that the plot and the 
characters should be constructed in accordance with natural princi¬ 
ples, and must remain consistent throughout. (£) If the poet treats 
a subject from accepted legend, he may not change the essentials of 
the story nor alter the characters. 

For the treatment of the characters, Horace gives several 

examples to guide the future poet: ”The manners of every age must 

be marked by you, and a proper decorum assigned to man's varying 

dispositions and years.” (3) ”It will make a wide difference whether 

x” ArB Poetics 1. 119-127: Aut f amain sequere aut sibi convenientia 
t Inge. 

2. Si quid inexpertum scenae committis et audes 
Personam formare novam, servetur ad iraum 
Qualis ab incepto proeesserit et sibi constet . 

3, 156 167: Aetatis cuiuspue notandi sunt tili mores, 

Mobilibusaue decor naturis dandus et annis. 


f 










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28 


it be Divus that speaks, or a hero; a man well stricken with years, 
or a hot young fellow in his bloom; and a matron of distinction, or 
an officious nurse.” (1) In these first two essential considera¬ 
tions of dramatic poetry, Horace neither changes, nor adds to, Aris¬ 
totle. 

But in his interpretation of the function of Tragedy, 

Horace returns to the general Greek doctrine of an ethical function. 

As we have seen in the preceding chapter, Aristotle was quite alone 
in his aesthetic theory of poetry, so much alone, in fact, that no 
one fully grasped his conception. Nor did Aristotle succeed in 
making hie thought dear in the Poetics . as was manifestly evidenced 
by the misinterpretations of the Renaissance critics. Horace, on 
the other hand, comes out without hesitation: "Poets wish either to 
benefit or delight," (2) and in one clear forceful line, "He who 
joined the instructive with the agreeable, carried off every vote." (3) 
Since later commentators found Aristotle's position so difficult to 
determine, and the Latin text so extremely simple, it is not remark¬ 
able that Horace prevailed in this question, if we remember also that 
this was the traditional conception. But what was not clear to the 
Renaissance commentators, was that Horace had departed on this point > 
from Aristotle; they were unconscious of having Imposed a foreign theory 
upon the original Greek Poetics . Aristotle's text did not preclude an eth- 

1. 114ff. Intererit multum divusne loquatur an heros, 

^aturuene senex an adhuc florente juventa 

Fervidus, et m&trona patens an sedula nutrix. 

2. Are Poetica , 1. 333: Aut prodesee volunt aut delectare poetae. 

3. Ibid ., 1. 343: Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci. 








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29 


leal interpretation, and Horace’s precept was taken to be the 
true meaning of Aristotle's "purgation"of the passions of pity 
and fear. This was the most important change made in the Aris¬ 
totelian doctrine, by welding to it the Horation Ars Poetlca * 

In the discussion of the Italian critics, no attempt 
will be made to give an historical account of literary criticism, 
nor even of tragedy alone, throughout the period of the Italian 
Renaissance* (1) It is rathcxjjbur purpose to trace those changes 
in the theory of tragedy made by the more important critics of the 
period - changes which prevailed during the seventeenth century, 
particularly in Prance. This sketch should bridge the gap between 
the Poetics and the doctrine of Corneille's immediate predecessors 
and contemporaries. To cover so long a period in a brief space, 
makes it necessary to consider only definite topics, as they are 
handled by the different critics, and not the works of the critics 
in chronological order, or in any complete form. We shall there¬ 
fore limit our study to the three parts of dramatic doctrine which 
were subjected to changes at the hands of Aristotle's commentators: 
Poetic Imitation or Verisimilitude, the Katharsis, and the Unities, 
in all of which the Renaissance critics wrought vast changes. 


ViSBISimLITUPfl 

let us follow first the fortunes of the doctrine of Poetic 

Imitation or Verisimilitude. The first mention of this comes in 

Part I of Trissino's Poetlca : (2) "Dico adunque ohe la Poesia ( c ome 

lI~~For”more detailed treatment cf.Spingarn, Joel S.: A Hist ory of 
literary Criticism in the Renaissance , End edition, New York, 
1908, pp. 3-1 W. Also Salntsbury, George: A History of Crit¬ 
icism New York, 1902, VCsLII, pp. 1-235. An excellent present- 
ati o n ^of Renaissance oriticism in its direct relations to the 
classical theories of the drama in Prance is given by Arnaud, 
Ch., in his volume entitled, I^e Theories drsmati^ues au XVII e 
siecle, Paris, 1888, pp* 116-135. 

2. Trissino, G. G. Poetlca . Vicenza, 1529. 




















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30 


prima disea Aristotle) e una imitazioae da la aaioni da l'homo." 

(X) This, however, la but a repetition of the Aristotelian 
phrase* Daniallo In 1536, (2) develop* at some length the thought 
that the poet may omit soma actual happenings, and add circumstances 
of his own fancy, so long as they are verisimilar, 1* a., have an 
appearance of truth, and fit in with the other parts of the story. 
This was to some extent a misunderstanding of Aristotle's true in¬ 
tent as regards Verisimilitude, which was to surpass the realities 
of Mature, not merely to supplant them. Robotelli, in 1548,(3) 
comes nearer the original Greek meaning, and grasps the further 


idea that the inventions of the poet must follow the creative 
principles df Mature. Fracsstoro (4) combines with this theory 
of the Verisimilar, the Platonic Idea of Peauty. It is thus that 
the ethical ooneeption is Introduced, since in Platonism, the 
beautiful is of necessity connected with the good. The poet, by 
portraying the beautiful and the good, directs the minds of men 
towards these ideals, and thus is the great teacher of men. But 
Fracastoro does not emphasise the ethical aspect of the Platonic 
system; it is rather the element of ideal beauty which arrests 
his attention. 


1 . 


2 . 

3. 

4. 


t t»;ra this oooortunity to correct the statement of Prof. 
S»i££n cit., P . 28: "In the Poetloa of Danielle (1636). 

occurs the - flrrt”alluslon In modern literary criticism to the 
Aristotelian notion of ideal imitation.” While Danlello may 
have teen the first to discuss the idea of Imitation, the cred¬ 
it of the first mention belongs assuredly to Trissino. 

Paniello, Bernardino, Foetlca t Vicenza, 1536, pp. 41ff. 
Roborteili, F: In Llbrum Artatotells do Arte Poeti of 

r*O ldesttones Florence, 1548, pp. 86 ff. _ _ 

tfracastoroTTJ.: Bsugerlus , slve de Poetics Dlalogus * 1656, PP* 

340,357. 

































51 


To quo;te Spingarn (1), "It is the chief merit of Frao&storo's 
Dialogues, that even while emphasizing this Platonic element, he 
clearly distinguishes and defines the ideal element in aesthetic 
imitation*” 

But during the decade following Fraoastoro’s work, the 
emphasis was entirely shifted to the rational element in poetry 
(which soon led to a similar emphasis on the ethical function). 
Aristotle’s meaning of ’transcending Nature* was completely lost, 
and a new interpretation given to Poetic Truth. This was inevi¬ 
table, because of the rationalizing tendency of the Age. Sca- 
liger (2), in his discussion of the Unities, requires that the 
events be so arranged that they approach nearest to actual truth 
(ut quam proximo accedant ad veritatem). Here, then, the aim of 
the Poet should be to create a semblance of reality, which is to 
confuse Poetic Truth with the Truth of Fact. The next step was 
an otvious one: the truth of history is the truth of poetry also. 
Scaliger maintains that if an action has the sanction of aotual 
though unique occurrence, then it must have the sanction of Veris¬ 
imilitude. This is the opposite of Aristotle’s principle of 
probable impossibilities, since this is to admit the possible im¬ 
probabilities. Scaliger was brought to this requirement of his¬ 
torical subjects, because he had required that Tragedy deal with 
kings and princes. These personages could not be invented, for 
then they could not be made credible. 


1. 0£. clt . , p. 34. 

2. Scaliger, J. C. : 


Poetlces Ilbri Septem . Lyons, 1661. 
















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32 


Castelvetro followed Scaliger in th ©36 misinterpretations, 
and (i) added another element which was in opposition to Aris¬ 
totle’s doctrine, the "Inferno a trovare”. (2) In the final test 
the Poet’s worth is to he determined by the skill he has shown in 
the invention of unexpected Incidents. The best plot is that one 
in which the Poet exercises the greatest ingeniousness in com¬ 
plicating the situation. It is with regard to the typeB of re¬ 
cognition possible that Castelvetro says: . . artificial! 

(sono) quelle nel trovamento delle quail egli dura fatioa et 
essercita molto lo ’ngegno, et disartificiali, ouelle nel trova- 
mento delle quali egli non sdopera molta sottilita d* ingegno, 
essendo esse atte ad espere vedute da qualunque persona commune”. 
(3) Thus the roaanesque, over-complicated plot, which was the 
direct result of the theory of the ’ingegno a trovare’, goes back 
for its origins to the misinterpretation of Poetic Truth or Veris¬ 
imilitude. By admitting to Poetry the truth of history, the Ren- 
alspance critics lost for poetry that higher truth of universality 
which Aristotle had demanded. In the following sections on Kath- 
arsis and the Unities, we shall find that all the misinterpretat¬ 
ions of the Greek Poetics , on these matters, were due to this rat¬ 
ionalized Verisimilitude. 

1. Castelvetro, Ludovico: Poetics jd’ flristotele vulgarlzzata et 
sposta. Vienna, 1570. All references will be to the second 
edition, Basel, 1576. This work is of particular importance 
for the study of Corneille’s practice and theories. 

2. P. d’A., p. 67. 

§ 4 rHTTp. 350. This theory becomes the "difficult© vaincue" of 
'Corneille’s doetrine. which he exemplifies most perfectly in 
the romanesque plays of his later manner, particularly Rodo - 
gune and Heraclius. Cf. infra , chapters XI and XII. 






























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33 


KATHABSIS 


For Katharsis, also, we shall find in Trissino, Part I, 

the first mention among the Italian critics. But here we find 

% wide divergence from Aristotle. It will perhaps he well to 

quote in full the passage in question: 

"Belli88ima cosa e fare teneficio a le genti; la quale 
non solamente tanto piu belle e reputata, quanto, che 
il beneficio in piu persone si otende, ma quanto an¬ 
chors con maggior dilettazione, di chi la utilitade 
rlceve, si fa; —- Hora essendo il maggior beneficio, 
che a le genti humane si possa fare, lo insegnarli a 
vivere bene;-—et essendo poi la maggior parte de 13 
’hornini di tal nature, che mal volentiere porgono 
orecchie a 13 1 arnmasestr ament i, e con diletto ascoltano 
le favole, e le cose lasoive; pero gAudico essere somm- 
amente da laudare quelli antiqui Poeti, i quail consider¬ 
ate la dilettazione, et utilitade commune, hanno con le 
bsttalje, e con le favole mescolato tutti i bellissimi 
ammaestramenti de *1 vivere humane. w (1) 

Here already we find the Horatian function of Tragedy dominating 
an otherwise Aristotelian treatment. More important in its in¬ 
fluence at this period was Paniello’s work, already referred to, 

which also accepts the Horatian precept of the didactic function. 

t“h c 

Haggi, in 1650, definitely links Aristotle and Horace on A ethical 
function of poetry, thus completing the fusion of the two doc¬ 


trines. 

In 1669, Minturno,(2) still holding to the ethical inter¬ 
pretation, adds a new element, which was to bear great fruit. Be¬ 
ginning with the simple 'prodesse aut delectare* of Horace, Min- 
turno analyses the means of bringing about profit with delight, 
and concludes that in addition to the Pity and Fear of the Aris¬ 
totelian doctrine, Admlratio is a powerful 

g* fitoiTTano'. Antonio, detto Mlntnrno: Be Poeta (Venice, 1669) 










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34 


end of Tragedy, which is purgation. This was a totally new departure, 
hut was taken up by Triseino in his fifth Book, published in 1563(1), 
and further elaborated by Minturno in hie Arte Poetica of 1663 (2). In 
this later work, the term used is ’meraviglia', which has been sub¬ 
stituted for ’admiratio*; this fact will prove of importance in dis¬ 
ouse ing the meaning of the latter term. 

It is necessary to determine the exact meaning of 'admiratio* and 
*meraviglia' in Minturno*s texts, since Corneille later cites Minturno 

0$ 'de.cuoF (Ate- 

as Justification for s ev eral of his characters. (3) The English term 
’Admiration* has been taken from the French ’Admiration*, used by 
Corneille,(4) by which he meant most frequently the admiration of 
character, as is the modern French and English us©. But if we glance 
at the history of the word, we find that the original Latin meaning was 
'wonder* or ’astonishment* which links it closely to ’meraviglia*, al¬ 
though the modern meaning of ’admiration* is also given.(6) The 16th 
Century French ke#t the original meaning,almost exclusively,(6) but in 
the 17th Century, the two meanings were constantly confused. All the 
greatest writers have examples of both meanings,(7) and in Corneille we 

1. Cf. Spingarn, o£. cit., p. 50. Tutte le Opera . (Verona, 1729), vol. 

TT, p. 99: Trissino requires that the action of tragedy be such "che 
negli animi nostri muoveno tnisericordia, e tema; e di quest© cotali, 
quelle fanno maggiore wmmir^zione .le quali intervengono quasi per 
disposizione fatale, oltra la espettazione. per credere de le genti." 
And later on the same page, "quest© tali aono piu belle, perche hanno 
la ammirazione. con la misericordia et col terrors." In each case, 
aramirazione is to be translated 'wonder*. 

2. 1664 is the date usually given, but the Dedication of the first edit¬ 
ion is dated 1563, which is the date given also at the end of the vol¬ 
ume. 1664 ia the date of its appearance in print. 

3. Of. infra, oh. ^TUT.. 4. Cf. Exaraen of Polyeucte , el passim . 

5. Cl. Thesaurus Linguae Latina? ©TXJf. Furetiere , . Ictlonnaire S.V. 

aImiratIe: " Tf qui eat surprenant, merveillesux." 

7. CX. Huguet, Ed: Petit Olossaire des Classigues Francais , Paris, 

T919, for examples. 























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35 


whether Minturno used the two terras synonymously, or whether he al¬ 
ready was making the shift to the more modern meaning. If the term 
’meraviglla' preceded 'admiratio' chronologioally, we might conclude 
that the idea of 'admiration of character*, leading to emulation, as 
an ethical aim for Tragedy, was becoming uppermost in Minturno's 
thought. But the facts belie this argument, since 'meraviglla' is the 
term constantly used throughout the Arte Poetlca ,(1) and it is clear 
from the text that the meaning is the wonder or astonishment occasion¬ 
ed by the "avve/nimento inopinato", which is another expression fre¬ 
quently used. There is no tinge of the modern meaning of admiration. 
And on the other hand, the term 'aramirazione' nowhere appears in the 

_ 

1* I give here a few citations from the Arte Poetlca . £k. II, which 
deals entirely with Tragedy. P. 76: "Ma con empito di parole, e 
con grave peso di v sentimento deste nell'animo passions, e induoelo 
a arerevlglia . cosi spaventando, come a pieta movendo." Again on p. 

78, speaking of the material of Tragedy, Mlnturno says: "persons 
grand! e illustri; e cose meravigl iose .e notatili.** P. 79: "per- 
cioche del Twggico poeta l'oiTicio e d*inducer© 1*Auditor© a rneravi - 
£ meravigllogo riputiamo quello accident©, che muove a com¬ 
passion©; overo spaventa." And again, ££. 96, 97:”.. come che al 
Tragico si cqyenga il procaociar de piacere aAp 4*k&er* a*rlguardanti 
con qualche vista, che generi rnaravlgl la . e diletto.” In this last 
quotation, it will be noticed that 'profit' has been omitted for the 
moment. 

2. The form mirablle occurs several times-P. 41: ”ne punto si dublta, 
che le cose miraoili non dilettino meravigliosamente.•.” The mean¬ 
ing here is easily determined by the content: "quelle cose mir*>lli 
riputiamo, che non vanamente son finte, ma prudent©mente, e miraV IT - 
mente trovate, e con ordlne degno di meraviglla disposte, e Toc^teV 
si ben cogiunte, comelse I'una dell* altrs dipe'ndesse." This shows 
clearly that Minturno is thinking of the 'wonder* or 'marvel* which 
is to be aroused by the ingenuity of the poet in arranging hie inci¬ 
dents. It goes back to the Aristotelian theory, and foreshadows the 
"ingegno a trovere" of Castelvetro. One more example will suffice 
to show that there is no shadow of the modern 'admirable' in Min- 
turno'e use of the word: p. 43: "K quelle riconoscenza e piu mira- 
\ He . allaquale segue il meraviglioso ,© molto dal pensier nostro lon- 
tano avve^nimento." Here again the two words are in close juxta¬ 
position,^which aide our translation of the first: "to be wondered 
at” or "to be admired" in the same sense as the preceding example. 


















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36 


In the DePoeta of 1669, on the other hani. the word 
'admiratio' and various forms of the verb and adjective, occur 
&ny times* Let us now examine some of the instances* The point 
of departure is given in Minturno's form of the definition of 
Tragedy, where he states that the poet should so write, "ut decent, 
ut delectet, ut moyeat . t '(l) Later he says that the duty of the 
poet is "to lead the hearer to admiration .* (8) Taken in con¬ 
junction with the previous quotation, it would seem clear that 
the admiration to be aroused is 'wonder' at the fable or invention 
of the poet. Such appears certainly to be Minturno's thought, for 
the following sentence reads, " Admiranda vero esse, quae vel aff- 
erunt miserationem, vel terrorem incutiunt, eaq; magis, quae cum 
conseouatur, praeter spem praeterq; opinion©® eveniunt." This is 
identical with the sentence quoted above (3) from Trissino where 
he uses the term 'ammirazione 1 , which is to be translated ’wonder'. 
Another instance of the word in a familiar setting strengthens this 
argument. Minturno says (4), ’’Quod autem ex hoste accipitur . . . 
neo its horrendum existit, nec tarn miseralile, ut mirificum prorsus 
esse videatur." Here there is no doubt o# the meaning 'wonderful'. 
The passage continues with examples of actions that will arouse 
the required emotion: "Kam admiranda quide sunt, quae Troianis 
orudeliter & inhumane a Graecis illata esse perhibentur.” And the 
conclusion comes in the following sentence, "Verum ad ipsum horroris, 
et haec admlratio no ab hoste, sed ab actione excitatur", where 

1. De Pceta, p. 102. 

2. Ibid , p. 180. 

3. Cf. supra . p.34,n.l- 

4. Te Poets , p. 180. 












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37 


again the meaning is manifestly that of ’wonder*, and is applied 
to actions, not to character. 

As further evidence that the word ’admiratio* tegularly 
meant ’wonder* or ’surprise* for Minturno, we have some help from 
one passage of the dialogue,(1) where Minturno, turning to his 
interlocutor Cossus, comments that it is natural that a certain 
thing should cause him great ’wonder*,(2) and that he will now ex¬ 
plain the matter, in order that he may cease ’wondering*.(3) 

This is still further "brought out also, in the section 
devoted to Christ and the perfect character as figures for Trag¬ 
edy. Minturno would admit Christ as the central figure in a trag¬ 
edy, since the orucifixion would arouse the deepest pity, and by 
the resurrection our highest wonder is aroused, at the fact that 
the power of death was overcome.(4) Howhere in these pages is there 
any mention of the admiration for the personality of Christ, thus 
showing that Minturno*s attention is entirely centered on the action, 
not on character. 


1. De Poeta . p. 63. 

2. ^ane quidem . . • ita est, ut till mirandum videtur”. 

3. n ut desinas admirari *’. 

4$ Ibid ., pp. 183,194. It is significant, however, that in the 
Arte Poetica (p. 76) he says: "In tragedia si reca lnnanzi 
agli occhi i’esemplo della vita e 11 costumi espressi di eoloro, 
i quali avanzando gli eltri nelle grsndezze e nelle dignita e 
negll agl della Portona, sono per umane errore in ©stream in- 
felicits caduti.’’ Here he returns to the Aristotelian require¬ 
ments. At this point, his chief concern was as to the ideal 
hero of Tragedy, whereas in the passage cited from the Pe Poeta . 
the discussion centered around the actions which could Fest 
arouse pity and wonder. It is just one example of the inconsist¬ 
encies of Minturno'8 theory, which did not attempt to reconcile 
the different parts of the same doctrine. 









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In b pit © of the several c rltics (1), i% seems then a 
justifiable conclusion, that in Minturno there was no shade of 
the modern meaning of admiration of character, with the thought 
of emulation. It is to be noted, however, that Minturno does 
place Admiration by the side of Pity and Fear, (even omitting 
Fear at times), as a purpose for Tragedy. By the incorporation 
of *ut moveat* in his definition, he definitely added this as a 
third element. In a broad way, w e can say that Minturno adapted 
to some extent the ’marvelous* of the .Epic, to Tragedy, since 
, admiratio' is for him only a lesser degree of 'meraviglia*. 

After this long digression, in which we have anticipated 
a difficult problem to which we shall return in a later chapter 
(2), it should be recalled that, as regards the interpretation of 
the Aristotelian iCatharsis, Minturno is thoroughly Horatian, and 
never deviates from the position that the function of Tragedy is 
didactic. 

Between Minturno*s two treatises comes Scaliger*s pedantic 
work in which a conscious attempt was made to reconcile Aristotle 
and r Horace. Scaliger, more than anyone else, is responsible for 
the twisting and distorting of Aristotle’s brief treatise, and 
for making of it a handbook of rigorous and inviolable rules. In 
his dogmatic attempt to combine Aristotle and Horace, we shall not 
be surprised to find that Scaliger attributes an ethical function to 


1 . 

2 . 


Cf. Spingarn, op. cit., p. 52; Charlton, H. B.: Castelvetrp ’s 
^Heory of Poetry, Manchester, 1913, p. 132; Saintsbury, o£. cit. 
p. 53 . “he latter does not expressly say that Minturno meant 
admiration of character, but this apparently is his thought. 

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39 


Tragedy. Indeed, for him the matter is quite beyond question, and 
he devotes no discussion to it whatsoever.(1) Scaliger requires the 
unhappy ending in Tragedy for reasons of symmetry and easy Definition. 
Comedy is described as dealing with persons of humble station, and 
has a happy ending; Tragedy, by contrast, presents noble persons, and 
has an unhappy outcome. Elsewhere, however, Scaliger admits that 
the unhappy ending is not necessary to Tragedy (2). But as for the 
rank of characters, Scaliger never withdraws his requirement that 
Tragedy should treat only illustrious persons. 

In 1670, Castelvetro published his Poetica which is a real 
attempt to "explain” the Aristotelian doctrine. But Castelvetro*s 
point of view and his field of observation were too entirely diff¬ 
erent from Aristotle’s for him to reach anything like the same re¬ 
sult. The very size of Castelvetro*s volume makes it patent that 
his analyses are far more thorough-going and carried to a much finer 
point. On the matter of Katharsis, this is particularly clear. In 
place of the few words of Aristotle, "through pity and fear effect¬ 
ing the proper purgation of these emotions”, Castelvetro devotes be¬ 
tween four and five pages to the m ture of this pleasure which can 
come from the spectacle of misfortune. Castelvetro considers that 
Aristotle had an ethical purgation in mind (3) ; but that this was 
introduced only as an answer to Plato,who would banish poets from 
the Ideal Bepublie, as being an evil influence. For Castelvetro con¬ 
siders that such a purpose is not in accord with the rest of the Aris- 

X. This lack of discussion may re due, as Charlton sug; eets, to the 
fact that Scaliger half realized that Aristotle did not mean an 
ethical purgation, and therefore would not strengthen his (Sca- 
liger’s) position in this matter. 

2 • Ill 97. 

s'. Cf. Charlton, H.B.j og. olt., p. ISO. 




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40 


totelian doctrine. Having rejected the theory of purgation. Cast- 
elvetro no longer requires an unhappy ending for Tragedy. But in 
this connection he makes a point of some importance to our later 
study, that if the tragedy has not an unhappy ending, it cannot 
arouse the Aristotelian Pity and Pear. Caetelvetro did recognise 
the inherent relationship of these two factors. Castelvetro*s 
theory is that "Tragedy is fulfilling its function by the mere ex¬ 
citement of pity and fear.”(l) 

Pleasure is the end of all poetry,and Caetelvetro now 
inquires into the nature of the pleasure which can come from see¬ 
ing the downfall of a virtuous man. Aristotle, he says, leaves 
no(room for delight, since he considers utility (purgation) as the 
chief end of Tragedy, although this is contrary to his own principl 
that the end of all Poetry is pleasure. Caetelvetro now finds him¬ 
self somewhat embarrassed, but the following is his rather compli¬ 
cated answer(2): " 'The pleasure excited by poetry has two modes, 
one oblique, one direct.(3) When the good man passes from misery 
to happiness, we are happy, feeling that he deserved his exaltation 
But when the good man falls into misery, we have a feeling of sad¬ 
ness; this sadness, however, is itself a pleasure, because we re¬ 
cognize that it is due to our having an inherent sense of the in¬ 
justice of the good man'8 evil fate. The former pleasure, Castel- 
vetro calls 'direct': it is the special end, in one form, of the 

1. Cf. Charlton, H.B. : ou. clt ., p. 134. 

2. ZTharlton, oj). olt ., p. 127. 

3. P. d'A. 6967 




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41 


epic, and in another, of comedy. The latter pleasure he calls 
’oblique’: and this is the proper end of tragedy.” Charlton 
points but that at this point Castelvetro's doctrine is certainly 
not ethical, but(l) ”he ends in a theory moral to the extent of 
being evangelical. From tragedy we learn not to trust the world; 
and we learn it in a delightful w^y, much tetter than from a ser¬ 
mon or from 'la simplice voce del dottore'. " Castelvetro seems 
here to have adopted a purely didactic function for poetry. 

But Castelvetro's method of analysis is too complicated 
for us to trace it in any detail here, and it is exactly this 
lack of clearness, just as in the case of Aristotle himself, that 
led the 17th Century writers to follow Scaliger and Minturno in 
certain points of their dramatic doctrine. While Castelvetro 
appears to have grasped the aesthetic import of Aristotle's doc¬ 
trine, he was not able to express it in terms sufficiently clear 
for others to follow his train of thought. We shall find that 
while in most matters Corneille relied upon Castelvetro's inter¬ 
pretation, as regard© the function of Tragedy, he follows Scaliger 
and more particularly Minturno. 

Thus we see that beginning with Trissino, who already in 
1629, had inserted the Horation function of Tragedy into the Aris¬ 
totelian doctrine, all the critics of influence did the same, in¬ 
cluding Minturno, Scaliger, and Castelvetro. On this point, the 
true meaning of Aristotle, as it was analysed in Chapter I of this 
study, was completely lost, long before his Poetics reached France. 
1. Ibid , p. 129. 




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UHITI&S 


42 


The last subject of importance with the Italian critics 
was the Unities* We have seen the scant mention of them in the 
Aristotelian text, and we must now trace their development as a 
dramatio doctrine. The theory of the three Unities as a dramatic 
principle was first formulated in Italy. Bu$ any historical treat¬ 
ment of the Unities must consider each of the three separately, for 
the doctrine of the three Unities was not established as such until 
1570 in Castelvetro 1 8 Poetlca . Unity of Time was the first to re¬ 
ceive the attention of the critics. The first known mention of the 
Unity of Time is in the Disperse of Giraldi Cinthio, which was 
written before 1550, although not published until 1654. In listing 
the similarities between Tragedy end Comedy, Cinthio says "et 1* 
una et 1* altra finge 1' avenlmento della sua attione nello spatio 
di un giorno, overo di poco piu...."(l) Spingarn comments on this 
passage: "he (Cinthio) has thus for the first time converted Aris¬ 
totle's statement of an historical feet into a dramatic law."(2) 
Maggi, in 1660, goes still farther. Spingarn says of him, "Maggi 
attempts to explain logically the reason for the Unity of Time."(3) 
He (Maggi) argues that "if we should see the actions of a whole 
month performed in about the time it takes to perform the play, that 
is, two or three hours, the performance would be absolutely incred¬ 
ible" Spingarn sums up Maggi's viewpoint: "The duration of the 
action of the drama itself must fairly coincide with the duration 

of its representation on the stage." 

Scaliger, in 1661, followed this same rationalizing ten- 

1. Discorsi . 206. 

2. Op. cit7 , p. 91. 

3. Ibid, p. 93* 








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43 


dency, and made of Aristotle's comment a rigid, dogmatic precept 
for the future dramatic poet. It ie in the name of Verisimilitude 
that Scaliger would identify the time of the action with that of 
the representation.(1) Scaliger amplifies the example given by 
Maggi; and argues that since the whole play is represented in six 
or eight hours, it ie not in accordance with the exact appearance 
of truthfheud verieimile eet), that within that time a tempest 
should arise and a shipwreck occur, out of sight of land.(2) Both 
Maggi and Scaliger have the rationalistic attitude towards the 
Unity of Time, which has its basis in a misinterpretation of the 
Aristotelian Verisimilitude. In their effort to make Aristotle 
conform to their own rational conception of the Universe, the Ren¬ 
aissance critics substituted Reality for Poetic Truth. Trissino 
and Minturno, in their treatises of 1563, return to the original 
Greek phrase, merely making a general comment on Time. 

It is not until 1670 that we have the definite formula¬ 
tion of the Unities. Caetelvetro in hie Poetlca discusses the 
Unities at great length, and it is from him that they were intro¬ 
duced into France. Before studying Caetelvetro, it is well that 
we should accept the warning of Breitinger,(3) even though it is 
somewhat overstated,: "Caetelvetro s'etait plus attache a comtattre, 
de parti pris et systematiquement, la poe'tique d 'Aristote qu 'a 
1» ©xpliquer." The standpoint of the two is different. Whereas 
Aristotle maintains that the power of Tragedy is felt even apart 
from representation and actorsU), Caetelvetro begins with the 

1. Scaliger requires that theevents be so arranged "ut quam pro¬ 
ximo accedant ad veritetem." 

\\ Breitinger, Heinrich :2nd edition, Geneva, 1896: Lee Unite's d 
' Aristote avant le Cldfre Corneille . 

4. Poetlca VI. 











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44 


aotual performance, and lays stress on the dramaturgic side* (1) 
The reason for thi* changed attitude is that Castelvetro was 
writing from the point of view of the Italian stage conditions as 
they then existed. The very restricted stage of the Italians was 
in contrast with the open Greek stage. This difference made it 
necessary for the critic to concern himself first of all with act¬ 
ual stage business and, in terms of the unities, this means the 
Unity of Place. It then tecomes readily intelligible why Caetel- 
vetro reverses the order of the Unities, assigning the first posi¬ 
tion to Place, second to Time, and the third to Unity of Action, 
which he considers merely as an aid to the observation of the 
Unities of Time and Place. (2) While Castelvetro considers that 


1* Castelvetro, P. d'A .. p. 298: "....(la vista) essendoui 

necesssria,se'Ya tragedia dee hauere la sua perfettione, la 
quale ella ha quando e recitata in atto con la vista convene- 

uole". Cf. also ibid .. p. £97: "Aristotele. e di queeta 

opinione, ohe quello diletto si tragga della tragedia in 
leggendola, che si fa in vedendola. & in udendola recitare in 
atto; la qual cosa io reputo falsa", and also ibid., p. 687: 
"...non b vero, che la tragedia operi quello, che e suo 
proprio, per la lettura sensa la vista." 

2. Spingarn, 0 £. cit .. pp. 99, 100. Also Charlton, 0 £. cit .. 
p. 89 and note. Castelvetro, p. 179: "Ma|egli (Aristotle) 
si poteva bene avedere, che nella tragedia, e nella comedia 
la favola contiene una attione sola, o due, le quali per 
dipendenza possono essere reputate una, e piu testo d'una 
persona, che d’una gente, non perche la favola non sia atta 
a contnncre piu attioni, ma perche lo spatio del tempo al 
piu di dodici hore, nel quale si rappresenta l ? attione, e la 
strettezza del luogo, nel quale si rappresenta l'attione, non 
permettono moltitudine d'attioni, o pure attione d’una gente 
anzl bene spesso, non permettono tutta una attione inters, 
se 1* attione o alquanto lunga. JS questa e la rag lone princi- 
pale e necessaria perche la favola della tragedia, e della 
comedia dee erisere una, cio e contenere una attione sola d 1 
una persona, o due etimate una per la dipendenza." 











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46 


Aristotle had intended twelve hours ee the time allotted to 
Tragedy, he wishes that the time of the action should coincide 
if possible with the time of the representation. At least, 
under no circumstances Is it to exceed twelve hours, due to the 
physical necessities cf eating, drinicing, and sleeping exper¬ 
ienced by the spectators. (1) Here we have the extreme rat¬ 
ionalistic interpretation. As for the Unity of Place, Caet- 
elvetro wishes th^t it be limited to that space which a 
person can see at one time,(2) This too is a rational inter¬ 
pretation, which would limit the action to adjoining rooms, 
or rooms opening on a garden or public square. V?hen follow¬ 
ed too strictly, the scene of the action would be reduced 
to a single room. All action which took place outside that 
room would have to be narrated. 

We have found in our analysis of Aristotle's Poetics , 
that the fundamental law of Tragedy ms s Verisimilitude or 
Poetic Truth. We have now shown that this conception was over¬ 
thrown by the Renaissance orltics, whose rationalizing ten- 


1* Poetlca .p* 67: "Ija rappresentstiva spende tante hore in 
rappresenter® 1© cose, quanta el spend one in farle." Also, 
Poetlca . p. 109: "Coei N come il loogo etretto e il paloo, 
cosTiT tempo etretto a quello ehe i vedltori poesono a 
suo agio dimorere sedendo in theatro, 11 . j non . 

veggo ehe posea paaeare il giro del sole, ei come dice Aris- 
totele, cio e, hore dodice, eonciosia cosa ch© per le necess¬ 
ity delijorpo, come e rangiare, here, diporre i euperflui 
pesi del ventre e della vesica, dormire e per altro necessita 
non posea il popolo continuare oltro i predetto termino cosi 
fatta dimora in theatro." 

2. Poetlca. p. 536: "Bella tragedia lo ©patio del Imago, per 
lo quale ©sea si men* * fine, e rietretto non eolamente ad 
una oit.ta o villa o campagno o simile site, ma anchors a 
quell* vista oh© sola puo apparrre agli occhi d’una persona" 
The 'eye* idea had already been expressed by Aristotle, but 
not carried to such limits. Cf. Poetic s. VII. 









46 


dency antetitrated for it, the actual truth of fact. This 
basic change necessarily affected both the choice of sub¬ 
jects for Tragedy, and their treatment. We hare already 
said that it was in the name of Verisimilitude that Sca- 
liger led the way to the Unities, and through a rationaliz¬ 
ed verisimilitude, Castelvetro limited the time of the act¬ 
ion to that of the representation, and the place to that of 
the stage itself. The whole doctrine of the Unities was 
founded on rational grounds, with respect to Actual, not 
Poetic Truth. This is also the basis of the ethical inter¬ 
pretation' of fathersis, since the moral function of poetry 
seemed to the Renaissance critics a rational purpose for Trag¬ 
edy, as opposed to the mere piessure-giving purpose we now 
accept. 

In other words, as regards the fundamental nature and 
purpose of Tragedy, and its manner of presentation, the It¬ 
alian critics completely overruled Aristotle's Poetics , and 
when the doctrine reached France, it was known only in this 
pseudo-Aristotelian form. 

Alongside of the Italian critics, there was one other 
Renaissance critic who was of great importance in the formu¬ 
lation of the French theories in the early seventeenth cen¬ 
tury. This was the Dutch scholar, Daniel Heinsiue, whose 
critical theories are to be found In his ?e Tragedlae C.nsti 
tutione . published at Leyden, 1611. (1) This work made no 

1. Heineius received the praiee of Scude'ry, of the newly- 
formed Academy, and of La Meanardiere Cf. Arnaud, Ch., 
op . clt ., p. 134* 












.f,- t 




































47 


pretense at being a common*ary on Aristotle, but was, like 
Scaliger's work before it, end D'Aubignac»s which followed 
it nearly half a century later, an original body of criti¬ 
cal theories. Yet the work of Heinsius was in the main 
merely a repetition of Aristotle's doctrine, and he sets 
forth only a limited number of original ideas. But these 
were to be of the utmost importance for Corneille's later 
theories, for they fitted in perfectly with Corneille's 
temp eminent. Along among Renaissance critics, Heinsius be¬ 
lieves that the rules of art are not infallible, and that 
the poet should not be subjected too completely to the 
grammarians and philosophers. Is it surprising that Cor¬ 
neille should seek in such a critic a defense against some 
of his adversaries? (1) 

Another novelty of Heinsius was his interpretation of 
the moral requirements of tragedy. Here he was less 
original, for he maintained still that tragedy should be 
didactic in function, but he would require only that the ma¬ 
jority of the characters have the high moral stamp: "Plures 

sint bene moral!". (2) It was in view of this moralizing 

was 

featuresof his doctrines, that Heineius^aocepted with Sca- 

1. We cannot know when Corneille first became familiar with 
the work of Heinsius, but he knew of him at the time of 
the Quarrel of the CJLd, for Scudery had oited Heinsius 
(Ch. 6 of the Pe Tracediae Constltntione ) in his accusa¬ 
tions against Corneille. It is not until the Pi scours 
that Corneille makes definite mention of Heinsius. We 
shall speak again of him in our chapter on the Dlsoours 
and ifeamens . 

2. Quoted from Arnaud, Ch., c>£. oit ., p. 135. 








I 


48 


liger by the early French critics. The work of Eeinsius was 
easier to read than the enormous and pedantic work of Sea- 
liger, and we may conjecture also, easier to obtain, be¬ 
cause of its later appearance. 

Among the Renaissance criticB whom we shall find cited 
ly Corneille, when he, in turn, comes to formulating his 
own theories, Heinsius, Castelvetro, and Ilinturno hold first 
place. Vse have already seen in this chapter wherein the 
doctrines of each would suit the character of Corneille's 
tragedies. This will be pointed out repeatedly in the 
following studies of the tragedies themselves, and the in¬ 
fluence of the Renaissance critics on Corneille'e dramatic 
theories will be seen particularly in our final chapter on 
the Plscours ^nd £xameae. 






I ^ a♦lirooyi r sdtl 


CSAPThK III - FRhGCH FRANTIC THkCHY v ZF'^z. CCHU^ILIL 


When we turn to the study of the dramatic theories in 
France during the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, 
we must not lose sight of the fact that there existed two 
distinct schools during this period, sharply divided in 
doctrine and chronology. (1) liven before the general influx 
of the Italian rules, aiade popular by the more important 
worics discussed in our last chapter, there were tragic poets 
in France who made an attempt at regularity. (2) But with 
the aopearanoe of Scaliger’s and Caatelvetro ? s commentaries, 
a new impetus was given to the movement, and in 1672 Jean de 
la faille first formulated the Unities of Time and Place in 
France. (3) Throughout the sixteenth century, there had been 
frequent mentions of the unities (4), which were to assume a 
superstitious importance in France, even greater than they 
had received in Caetelvetro’e doctrine. 

But this school of tragedy was nearly eclipsed by the 
monumental production of Hardy, who was, in more than one 
sense, the Shakespeare of France. Yet we must not let it 
appear that Eard^ broke suddenly with his predecessors. In 


1. Faguet, i£: te Lisant Corneille . Paris, 1913, p. 49: ’’Avant 
Corneille iT~y a eu en Franee deux •soles tragiques, celle 
du XVIe execle, celle de 1600 a 1630. ff 

2. Cf. Jodelle, Grevin, Gamier. / 

3. Art de la Tragedle . n il faut tousioure representor l 1 * 
histoire, ou le ieu on un steams iour, en un raoame temps, 
et en un mesme lieu.” (Quoted by Lancaster, K.C. h.A . 
XXII, 1908. p. 310) 

4. jcf, Pelletier, Pootlque (1566): Grevin, v riof Flscours sur 
le Theatre (1561): Vauquelin de la Fresnays, L' '* Art Pcet - 
ique (15^76-1606) :K#nsard, first Preface to the Fr nciade 
(1672): le sieur d'Aigaliere, whose cOetlQue of 1698 argues 
against the Unities. For this period, of. Arnaud, gh., Lea 
Theories draaatiquee au XVIle slecle . Paris 1868,pp. 11611. 






















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50 


hie first plays, Hardy was completely But servient, writing 
choruses, in the manner of Montchrestien and Gamier, using 
dreams, prophecies, and long monologues. It was Hardy’s 
natural dramatic sens© which led him to bring real action in¬ 
to his tragedies, and this was his greatest reform. Through 
Hardy, the French stage lost the lyrical elements which it 
had had during the sixteenth century, and became essentially 
dramatic. Hardy retained all the devices of his predecessors, 
although making of them mere ornaments, and no longer the 
basis of his tragedies. He did more; he passed on this six¬ 
teenth century tradition to Mairet and to Corneille.(1} 

Hardy’s reforms, however, went too far, and resulted in ex¬ 
tremely complicated and roraanesqne plots; murders, suicides, 
and violence of all types formed the usual ’denouements' to 
Hardy’s plays. It is in this direction that Corneille’s 
greatness lies, for he evolved from this romanesque type of 
play the internal, psychological drama, which was to develop 
into the great classic French tragedy. 

Hardy could not have produced the psychological tragedy 

of the later period, for he had not found the ’cadre* which 

was necessary for psychological action (£). This 'cadre* was 

to be furnished by the 'rlgles' of the critics, and chief 

among the 'regies' were the Unities. While his dramatic sense 

X„ Cf. Medee which has all the ear-marks of the Sixteenth 
century tragedies. CT. infra . Ch, Itf, —. 

2. Hardy’s tragedies do not all lack psychology, for in La 
Mort de Pairs and especially in La Mort d’ Alexandre , t ere 
i8 mucE psychological development, tut tEisis ft till over¬ 
shadowed by excessive external action in the background. 
Corneille’s Medea . and indeed the Cid as well, both suffer 
from this tradition, from which Corneille does not free 
himself until Horace . 













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51 


provided Hardy with a Unity of Action that was in general com¬ 
pletely classic, he did n t observe the Unities of Time and 
Place. It is in this sense thst hie plays are ’irregular 1 , and 
are compared to the repertory of Shakespeare. The ’regies’ (by 
which is understood chiefly the Unities), were generally disre¬ 
garded, not only by Hardy * but by all poets for thirty or forty 
years (1), covering roughly the period from 1590 to 1625 or 
1630. Hardy, by the effervescent and spirited action of his 
plays, so attracted the public, that they willingly set aside 
the more scholastic ’regular* plays of the sixteenth century 
school. As Arnaud e>presses it, "Si Jodelle, ni la Taille, ni 
Gamier lui-mem© ne nous avaient donne asses de plaisir, ne 
nous avaient inspire asses de fierte' pour fixer nos gouts: 
nous acceptances de nouveaux mitres et de nouveaux modeles 
des qu’ils ee presenterent. Aux Italiens succederent les Ls — 
Hagnols et a la Poetique reguliere* de Trissino cell© de Lope 
de Vega." (2) It is essentially a romaneeque period, in whioh 
all restraining theories are laid aside, dominated by the per¬ 
sonal genius of Hardy, the movement which led to the great vog¬ 
ue of tragi-eomedy came to a real deoline. At his death in 
1630 (3), Hardy's influence had already waned (4), and a new 
school was begun, represented by the Sllvanir© of Mairet in 
1630 (6). It was this school which prepared the way for the 
classic tragedy, by a return to the Italian models. It wps 
directly the work of this pre-classic group which prepared 

l.Cf. Petit de Julleville, Le Theatm m ilr^nce Paris, 1889. p. 
ft. 2. op.* eit., pp. 132, 133. 3. This date is not cer¬ 

tain, but 10 given as probable by Kigal, in his Alexandr e 
Harcbg . Parle, 1889, p. 37. 4. £f. Lombard, £. &a.l t.f. frz . 

So. u. Litt..1, 170, who considers that Hardy may have with¬ 
drawn from "piay-writing as early as 1623. 5. For disoussion 

of this date, of. infra , p 











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the Quarrel of the Cid in 1627, and the resulting triumph of 
the classic or ’regular 1 tragedy. 

Therefore, we shall not concern ourselves with the history 
of French tragedy in the sixteenth century, since it was of no 
influence upon the doctrine in which we are interested.(1) And 
the system of Hardy and his followers need not he treated here, 
since its production is quite apart from the true French ten¬ 
dencies. let us then begin our investigation just at the mom¬ 
ent when Hardy was losing favor, and when the dramatists began 
again to study the Italian dootrines. 

It is extremely diffioult to determine at just what point 
this change took place, but all sources show that the first con¬ 
sideration for the new theorists was the Unities, as it had been 
for the Italians themselves. This pseudo-Aristotelian theory 
becomes the clue and pivotal point of ’regular* play-writing, and 
to say that a play was in the rules, between the years 1629 and 
1643, might mean merely that it observed the Unities. An his¬ 
torical sket h of the Unities in France will then give us the 
approximate date of the introduction of the Italian rules into 
France. 

Until very recently, Fanheisser'8 study of the Unities in 

idea 

France (2) was^our^moet^accurate^source^of^infor^aticn^^Here^the^ 
1. Cf. Lancaster,H» Car r in#ton . P.^•L.A .XX1 1 (1908), p. 311, They 
TThe theories of the 16th Century) influence only the academ¬ 
ic tragedies of the 16th Century, a type of play that ceases 
to be written during the first quarter of the foil wing cen¬ 
tury giving way before the practical and irregular drama of 
Fardy and his contemporaries. %hen Frenchmen arc again att¬ 
racted to classic olaywriting, they turn for their rules to 
the Italians.., rather than to the plays and theories of 
their 16th century compatriots.” 2. "£ur Gesohichte der Kin- 
heiten in Frankreich", Kelt. f. . fjk ,„Sp. tt.JLl.tt., vol. 14 
(1892) pp. 1 - 76. 






53 


had been brought forward that Isnard, In his preface (1) to the 
Fill is de Scire (2), had been the first French writer to refer to 
the Unities in the 17th century. But Profesror Lancaster (3) has 
discovered an interesting passage in " LaU^nereuse Allgmande ". a 
play of Le Sieur Mareschal, who was a versatile playwright contem¬ 
porary with Botrou and Corneille. Mareschal declares himself 
against the Unities in almost polemic fashion. This passage is 
from the Preface to the second *journee* of the play, which preced¬ 
ed the first by some two months. The date of the ^cheve 7 d* imprinter* 
for the second tournee* is Bov. 18, 1631. The preface itself must 
then have been written previous to Bovemter , 1630, thus preceding 
the preface of Isnard by from five to eight months. Since this dis¬ 
cussion by Mareschal (4) is against the Unities, we can fairly 


1. Published April 30, 1631. 

2. A posthumous play by Pichou. 

3. Op . clt .. pp. 307 - 316. 

4. ?he passage in gueeticn reads as follows: ”... n*ay pas voulu 
me restraindre a ces eetreites homes ni du lieu ni du temps, 
ni de l’action; qui sont lee trois poincts principaux que 
regardent les regies dee Anciens. Qu*ils me eoutiennent que 
le suiet de Theatre^glt eetre un en l*action, e’est a dire 
estre simple en^on evenement, et ne recevoir d*incidents qui 
ne talent tous a un eeul effect d*une personne seule; ie leur 
declareray que le mien en a deux diuerses. Qu’ils eoutiennent 
encore que la Scfene ne connoiet qu*un lieu, et que pour fair® 
quelque rapport du spectacle aux speotateurs que ne remuent 
point, elle n'en peut ecrtlr qu*en mesme temps elle ne sort® 
aussi de la raison; i*auou*ray que la mienne de commencement 
et pendant les deux premiers Actes est en la Yille de Prague, 
et presque tout le reste en cell© d*Aule, en un met qu*elle 
passe de Boheme en Syle'sie. Be plus qu*ils Jurent^u'un suiet, 
pour estre lust© ne doit oontenir d’actions qui s'etendent au 
dela d*un lour, et qui ne puisse auoir est^ faites entre deux 
Soleils; ie ne suis pas pour cela prest a croire que celles 
que i*ay d^orites, et qui sont verJLtatles, pour avoir franohy 
ces limites ayent plus raauvaiee grace." 








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54 


assume that there had teen already some advocacy of them be¬ 
fore this time, to arouse so bitter an opponent. And indeed 
there had been scattered dismissions by Chapelain and others, 
but these centered mostly around the unity of time.(l) But 
Mareschal stands as "the first French author of the seven¬ 
teenth century known to mention the unity of place, and the 
first to speak of the unity of action as belonging essentially 
to the drama rather than applying to all poetic forms." M 0f 
greater importance is the fact that he is the first French 
author known to group these Unities of Action, Time and Place 
so as to point them out as the three essential rules of the 
classic theater." (2) 

Without entering into a discussion of the details of its 
formulation, Breitinger (3) simply states: " On sait asses 
aujourd'hui que cette theorie. (dee unites) s*est formulae entre 
1629 et 1636 sous 1 * inspiration de Chapelain et par les ordres 
du oardinal-poete." The first of these dates, 1629, is that 
formerly accepted for the Sllvanlre of i£airet(4), in which he 

1. Lancaster, 0£. cit. . p. 312: "Eefore Mareshal, indeed, the 
writings concerned with dramatic unities were largely devoted 
to the unity of time, which, taken from Aristotle, as inter¬ 
preted by Ben&issanee scholars had teen familiar to Italian 
critics of ?he sixteenth sentury." 

2. Ibid , p. 312. , 

Z. Breitinger, H. : Les Unites d'A ristotc avant le Cid de 
Cor neille . End edTUon, Geneva, 1895: 

4 . Cf. infra , p.^ /rv.1 • where we have corrected this in accordance 
with Dannheisser’s evidence. 









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55 


very intentionally observes the Unities (1); and the latter, that 
of the Cid , which brings the discussion to a head. 

Let ns review now the significant events of this formative 
period (2). Emile Paguet says in one place (3), "Soudain, vers 
1625, une insurrection des lettres contre le romantisme de 1620 
.. produit." The leader of the insurrection was undoubt¬ 
edly Chapelain, for as early as 1620, he had made mention of the 
unity of action (4); in 1623 he wrote the Preface de l' Adone : 
and in 1630, his real manifesto appeared in the form of a letter 
to Godeau, which was circulated (5). In 1636 he converted Riche¬ 
lieu to the new doctrine (6). Cnee the iron-handed cardinal had 
turned his interest to the new rules, their triumph was certain. 

d 

But no mere theories evolved by oritics could change the whole 
practice of the stage, without the added efforts of the play¬ 
wrights themselves. 

The dramatist who put the new doctrine on the stage was Jean 


n Lanson, Gustave, Hist , de la Litt . 12th ed., 1912, p. 420. 

"Celui qui les (les uni*tisT*introduisit reellement fut Mairet.. 
II les appliqua...a peu pres..dans SiIvanire , tragi-comeale 
pastorale (1629). En 1631, 11 formula la th^orie classioue 
des unites dans la Preface de Sllvanlre . Enfin, en 1634, il 
fit jouer Sophonlsbe , la premidre tragedie r^guliere qu’on 
ait donnee." 

2. Cf. Arnaud, o clt .. pp. 136ff., for complete discussion of 
The development. 

3. Op . cit., p. 61. 

4. tf. Lancaster, P.M.I.A. (1908), pp. 311,312. 

5. C?. Collas, George: Jean Chapelain . Paris, 1912, pp. f6ff. 

6. TTid ., pp. 117-119. cf. also lanson. Hist , de la Litt Fr. 
TTflh edition), Paris, 1912, p. 420. 














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56 


de Mairet, with his Silvanlre . in 1630 (1), Mairet was the 
spokesman of the new school, of which Chapelain was, so to 
speak, the administrator. With the success of Sllvanlre and 
Sophonlste . and the authority of Chapelain, who was Richelieu’s 
tight-hand man in literary matters, everything favored the succ¬ 
ess of the "regies”. 

There is still another phase of the subject to 
he considered in this chapter. We have said that the tragedies 
of the 16th century were discontinued, supplanted by the enor¬ 
mous production of Hardy, who wrote for the most part tragi¬ 
comedies. Contemporary with the later plays of Hardy, were the 
tragi-comedies of DuRyer, Schelandre, and Malret himself.(2) The 
most casual study of the period makes it at once apparent that 
the predominant genre was tragi-comedy. To quote Professor Lan¬ 
caster (3): "Between the years 1600 and 1628, the romanesque type 
of tragi-comedy not only became the predominant form of the genre , 
but was raised by Hardy and his contemporaries to the position of 


1. The changes in Mairet*s dates made by Dannheisser in the Homan - 
ische Forschungen,vol• V, (1890). pp. 37-60, have long been 
accepted as definite. Put Danneheiseer was too timid to hold 
out for 1630 as against 1629 for Silvanire . although his evi¬ 
dence seems entirely in favor of the later date. If we accept 
1630 as the date for Silv^nlre . it is necessary to change the 

generally accepted date. HIT* for Melite, to 1630. This Lann- 
heisser was not willing to do. tut the more recent study of 
Professor H. C. Lancaster, "Prcballe Dates of Corneille’s Early 
Plays", Hod. Lang . Notes . 1915, pp. l-5 t adds further evidence 
in lustiTTeation of this change. We shall then accept the 
date 1630 for both SiIraniye and Melite , and 1634 for Sophon - 
1 st e . 

2. for the detailed treatment of the tragi-comedy, of. Lancaster, 

H. C., French Tragl - Comedy Daltlmore, 1907. (John?Hopkins 
Dissertation.) 

3. Itld.. p. 101. 



















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57 


the most popular and extensively written form of dramatic produc¬ 
tion in France." Malret's Sophonlsbe and Corneille's Medea . loth 
of 1654-1635, were the first returns to regular tragedy.(1) The 
former owes its importance to the fact that it fully applied for 
the first time, the new dramatic rules; the second of these plays 
owes its slight place in history to the single fact that it was 
the first attempt at tragedy made by Corneille. The Cld itself 
was first classed as a tragi-comedy, because of its happy ending, 
and Horace stands out as the first great tragedy in the classical 
manner. After 1640 'regular' tragedies followed in close success¬ 
ion; even Rotrou and DuRyer who had devoted themselves to tragi¬ 
comedy, now turn to tragedy. Why this brusque return to a neg¬ 
lected, almost forgotten, genre? 

We must analyze to some extent the favor in which 
tragi-comedy was held at this time. The decade 1620 - 1630 saw 
the rise of Richelieu, who stunned the kingdom by his iron-hand¬ 
ed methods, his almost superhuman efforts in behalf of the mon¬ 
archy. It is in part due to the figure of Richelieu himself, that 
the French public became interested in great exploits. But strong¬ 
er than this, was the influence of the "grands romans": the Astree, 
that comlination of pastoral and romanesque elements, held the 

1. Theophile's Pyrame et Thiele , first printed in 1623, may 
rather be classed as a psttoral, than as a tragedy in the 
classic sense. Rotrou's Kercule Mourant ,dates from the 
early part of 1634, but it is irregular. 











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58 


reading public apell-Lound. The tragi-comedy was merely the 
dramatisation, one might say, of the grands romans, present¬ 
ing the same materials on the stage. 

Alongside of these popular plays, enacted at &he 
Hotel de Bourgogne, some of sixteenth century type, the tradit¬ 
ional tragedies of the sixteenth century type wore continued, 
within the closed society of student groups.(1) There were 
even, scattered here and there, tragedies given publicly. So 
that the break between the sixteenth and seventeenth Centuries, 
emphasized by Hardy’s productions, was not by any means complete; 
some of the old tradition sifted through. Yet it still remains 
true that the great incuse ion of tragedy on the Frenoh stage 
beginning with Mairet, Scu&ery, Eotrou, DuKyer, ana Corneille, 
was not a reawakening of the older school. Eor was it a sudden 
break from tragi-oomedy. It was rather the logical evolution of 
the latter, hastened by the importation of the Italian dramatic 
rules. As we shall see in a later chapter, the Cid was the com¬ 
bination of the romanesque, offered by the Spanish subject, and 
the restraint imposed by the Italian theories. It was quite in 
line with contemporary tendencies, but was marked by the superior 

personal genius of Corneille. 

It was not only a natural evolution, but an actual 
necessity, that the tragi-comedy should give way to tragedy, with 

Cf~~Lanson, " Lee Originee de la Tragefiie Classique en 

France", R.E.L ., vol. 10 (1903), pp. 178-231; 413-436. 




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59 


the coming of the Italian rules. For the requirement of the 
Unities, particularly of Time and Place, made it impossible to 
represent an action in which "la scene se passe tour a tour dans 
toutes les regions de 1'univers". (1) The new rules outlawed the 
multiplex scenery (2)(which however continued in practice until 
after the Cid at least); proscribed plays which required several 
days for their performance and several years for their action; and 
above all, ruled out the 1 invraisemblences* of the tragi-comedy. 

In the words of Lanson,(3) "il fallsit trouver un drame capable 
d'alroir toute son ampleur dans les cadres e'troits de quelques 
heures et d’une ohamtre. n (4) 

By 1630, the Unities had become of paramount im¬ 
portance, and all else was determined by them. Even Verisimili¬ 
tude, which had teen the prime consideration of Aristotle, has 
beoome the slave of the Unities, a subordination which had already 
been begun by Soaliger.(6) And of the three Unities themselves, 
that of Action has been reduced to third place and is made depend¬ 
ent upon the other two. At the time when Corneille first makes 
acquaintance with the rules, the "regie des vingt-quatre heures" is 
supreme. 

1. Lanson, Corneille , p. 33. / 

2. For a full presentation of this system, of. le Memoire de ^ ahelot . 
Laurent, et d'Autres deccrateurs de I'HoTel de Bourgogne etje la 

Comedie-Frsnesise *u XVIIe slide, (ed. by &.C. tancasier) Paris. 

l$2b. pp. 32-4’57 

3. Corneille , p. 39. 

4. For a more complete treatment of the transition from tragi-eomedy 
to tragedy, see the whole of Chapter II in Lanson's Corneille . 

5. Cf. supra , p. 43 









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60 


chronological tapib OF COHNKILLE’S lakly comedies and tragedies 

TO THE YEAR 1662 .(1) 


1630 Mel If (2) 

1631 Clitandre 
1631-1632 laVeuye 

1632 La Galerie du Palais 

1633 La Suivante 

1633- 1634 La Place Boyale 

1634- 1636 ledee 

1636 i Tlllusion Comique 

1636-1637 Le ClA (3)' 

1640 Horace 

1640 Cinna 

1641- 1642 Polyeucte 

1642- 1643 Pomp ee 
1644-1646 ladoguoe 

1646 Theodore 

1647 He rad ius 

1660 Ton Sanche d 1 2 3 Aragon 

1660- 1661 Kieom&dd 

1661- 1662 Pertharite 


1. Le Menteur and Andr om^Ae have teen omitted, as they will not he 
included in the following chapters. 

2. Cf. Dannheisser, £., Romanische Porschungea , V (1690); also 
Lancaster, H.C., (19lFTi For all the plays prior to the Cid, 
the dates established by Lancaster have been accepted. 

3. For all plays from the Cid through Pertharite , the dates given 
by Laneon in his eaquisse have been accepted. In the case of 
Pertharite , Lancaster prefers 1661 to 1662 which is the date 
given by Lanson. 












































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61 


CHAPTER IV - CORJfEILLS'S EARLY PLAYS 


Turning now to Corneille, let us see how he interprets in 
his early praotice, the various questions of Poetic doctrine. Be¬ 
fore the Cid . our only documents are the comedies, and the one 
tragedy, Medea , together with toe -pltres and Prefaces , which pre- 
ceded these plays. For our purpose, the comedies afford little 
help, except as regards the Unities, and the general application of 
Verisimilitude. It will he well to follow the chronological order 
in this section so that we may have as clearly in mind as possible 
the development of the dramatic theories, as they actually grew 
upon Corneille himself. 

The Kyw-man de Clitandre gives us an excellent starting-point, 
in its well-Jcnown opening statement: "Un voyage que je fia a Paris 
pour voir la succes de Me'llte a'apprlt qu'elle n’ltolt pas dans 
las vlngt at quatre heures: c'e'tolt l'unlque regie que l'on oonnut 
an ce temps-la.” Thus the Unities became at onoe the chief pre¬ 
occupation for Corneille; they were to remain so during the greater 
part of his dramatic aotlvlty. In Kellte, no effort had been made 
at Unity of Time, and the action extends over several weeks. As 
for the Unities of Aotlon and Place, Corneille attributes his hand¬ 
ling of them to his own merit: "le sens commun. qui etoit toute raa 
r&gle, m'avoit fait trouver l’unite' d'aotlon pour broulller quatre 
affiants par un seul Intrigue, et m'avoit donne asset d'aversion de 
cot horrible d^reglement qul mettoit Paris, Rome et CanBtantinople 












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62 


sur 1© meme theatre, pour reduire le mien dans une seule ville." (1) 
These remarks concerning the Unity of Place have reference to the 
multiplex scenery of the French stage, a remnant from the mystery 
and morality plays of the Middle Ages, where Paris, Home and Jeru¬ 
salem were all represented on the stage simultaneously* For this 
purpose a system of raanelones was devised and by the use of signs 
placed over each doorway, the audience knew where the scene was 
according to the door through which the character appeared or dis¬ 
appeared. (2) The inconvenience of this arrangement became very 
evident when the stage, no longer allowed the freedom of all out¬ 
doors, as had teen the case when the plays were given in front of 
the churches, was now limited to the small stage of the Theatre du 
Marais, or the Hotel de Pourgogne. Put since this statement of 
Corneille is taken from the ixamen, we may feel assured that it is 
not entirely exact, tut is tinged with some of the theories which he 
learned at a much later period, and we may he permitted to doutt 
somewhat whether Corneille determined his Unity of Place ty any com¬ 
parison with contemporary practice. However that may be, the im¬ 
portant point for us is to note that the action in Melite does trans¬ 
pire within one city, which was an acceptable interpretation of the 
Unity of Place, at the time. 

The Unity of Action is weak, since the principal action is 
completed at the close of the fourth act, and the fifth is devoted to 
the conclusion of an episode. Corneille himself recognized this 

1. ^xamen de Melite . 

2. ££. ifatzke, J.S. "The Unity of Place in the Cid,” M.L.H. . 1898, 
pp* 393-409. 









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63 


fault in the .hxamen . hut no blame was attached to It in 1629, for 
it passed unnoticed. We have seen how, from the time of Castel- 
vetro, the Unity of Action has gradually lost its predominant posi¬ 
tion, and provided there is a 'principal action', the critics, as 
well as the public, were entirely satisfied. 

The following year, in Cllatandre C1). Corneille followed the 
rules, particularly that of "les vingt-quatre heures." Here,then, 
we have the first conscious effort, on the part of Corneille, to 
restrain any natural tendencies, fior are we to be hoodwinked by 
Corneille's later statement that it was a mere bravado (2), to 
show that he could follow the rules if he chose, for there is evi¬ 
dence that in 1631 he considered the play more worthy than Melita .(3) 

Here the rule of twenty-four hours was fulfilled, since this 
was one of the two purposes Corneille set himself in writing the 
play. (4) The Unity of Place is still very indefinite. In the Pre¬ 
face we read, "je laisse le lieu de raa scene au choix du lecteur;" 
and later, "raa scene est done en un chateau de roi, proche d'une 
foret." ?oth the chateau and the adjacent forest were necessary to 
the action, but this was quite acceptable in 1630, for the critics 
permitted an interpretation of the Unity of Place which should in¬ 
clude places so far distant that it required twenty-four hours to go 
between them. As for the Unity of Action, It is less satisfactory, 
even, than in MelIte .from our point of view, for there is such a 
wealth of episode that one can scarcely distinguish the principal 

1* "he title of "Tragedie" was not given to this play until 1660; 

it was first called ”Tragi-com<£die". Cf. I, p. 258 Marty- L aveaux . 

2. Zxamen of Clltandre . 

3. Of. Martv- Laveaux I, 268. 

4. The second was to have multiplicity of episode, in answer to an 
objection made to Melite . Cf. Infra.?. 













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64 


action from the several secondary ones. Again, the fifth act is 
weak, and the marriage of Clitandre comes as a surprise. Yet the 
play succeeded, and the pullie accepted the over-romanesque plot 
with eagerness. We are dtill in the period whose taste had been 
formed by Hardy and The'ophile. For us, Clitandre is very valuable 
as an indication of the state of dramatic theory at the time; we 
perceive thereby that the Unity of Place was still variable, and 
Unity of Action was not of much concern either to critics or play¬ 
wrights. 

Hext in order comes LaVeuve , in 1631, or 1632. Unity of 
Time ie here disregarded, or at least interpreted in a very new 
fashion. Corneille allotted five days to the action, Just as there 
are five acts to the play. Corneille explains in the preface Au 
Lecteur of 1634, that of six plays written by him up to that time 
(1634), three had been restricted to twenty-four hours, and he had 
allowed himself entire freedom in the other three. One is startled 
to read next, "Pour l’unite / de lieu et d’actlon, ce sont deux 
regies que y observe inviolablement....", but the sentence continues, 
"reals j’interprete la derniere a ma mode; et la premiere, tantot 
je la resserre k la seule grandeur du theatre, et 4antot Je l'etends 
Jusqu’a toute une vllle, comme en cette piece." This dates from 
the early weeks of 1634, and shows clearly Corneille’s preoccupation 
with the Unities. Ho other point of doctrine has been treated in the 
prefaces. 

La Galerle du Palais , which appeared also in 1632, adds little 
of interest for us. Unity of Time is handled in the same manner as 






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65 


in the prededlng comedy, with five consecutive days for the action, 
fior is the Unity of Place exact, since the action begins in the 
Galerie dn Palais, then moves to a street showing several houses, 
reverts a second time to the Galerie du Palais, and in the last 
act, the street setting is used again. The Galerie du Palais has 
real Unity of Action, which was doubtless aided by the more re¬ 
stricted Unity of Place. 

The next play, La Sulvante . is of considerably more Impor¬ 
tance, lecause of the £pltre which precedes the first edition. 
However, the date of this ^pitre is 1637, just at the moment when 
the Cid was before the Academy for critical examination. We should 
therefore leave the consideration of this document until we come 
to the discussion of the Quarrel of the Cid . LaSulvant e gives the 
closest adherence to the Unities we have met up to this time, and 
actually applies Caetelvetro 1 s extreme rationalistic ideas as to 
time and place. That this was intentional on the part of our author 
is not to be doubted, for he later telle us that he has not since 
held himself so closely to the rules. 

La Place Hoyale was played in 1633, or at least prior to 
Karch 13, 1634, although it was not published until 1637, like the 
two preceding comedies. Corneille wrote no Preface or £pltre to 
this |>lay except the dedication, which does not dell with any 
questions of doctrine. Unity of Action is bad in this play, for 
there are two separate intrigues planned, of which the second is 
not the necessary result of the first. This is the first time we 
have had occasion to criticize the Unity of Action, except for ex- 












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66 


c©ss of episodes. Corneille later recognized this duplicity of 
action in the Zxamen. Unity of Time is maintained. The Unity of 
Place ie that of s public square, but Corneille encreached upon 
strict unity at one point, to permit the heroine to lament and 
reflect in her private apartments. The f lnvralsemblance• of 
such a seen? in a public square was too patent to Corneille, and 
he preferred to "rompre 1*unite de lien". 

Bext in order of time comca M^des . Corneille 1 8 first tragedy, 
but first we may discuss L f Illusion Comique (1), the last of the 
comedies (2). I*Illusion preceded the Cld by only a few months, 
which serves to make more surprising the tremendous gap between 
the two works in every point except that of time. Yet, an Marty- 
Laveaux points out (3), 1/ Illusion has a Spanish subject, and its 
hero speaks at times in language quite befitting Rodrigue. But in 
the comedy, Corneille gave free rein to the romanesque subject, and 
disregarded all rules or doctrine. The Unity of Action is much im¬ 
paired by the fantastic fifth act, in which the characters of the 
comedy take part in a tragedy. In the ^xamen , Corneille treats 
separately the first four acts, which constitute a comedy, and the 
fifth act, which is an undersized tragedy. Unity of Action is tot¬ 
ally foreign to such a production. There is, however, strict Unity 
of Time, end a certain Unity of Place, since the characters remain 
in the same general place throughout the five acts. This comedy- 
tragedy may truly be styled an extravaganza, and quite apart from our 
study. 

X. £his was the title used until 1660. 2. We shall not treat La 

Menteur nor La suite du Menteur since they are quite aside from 
the current of the tragedies. 3. II, pp. 423 ff. 











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67 


Before turning to Medee .lot ub resume our discussion of the 
Unities in the early oomedies, and add a paragraph on the handling 
of Verisimilitude* We have seen that the Unity of Aotion was weak 
in practically all, with the possible exceptions of La Galerle du 
Palais and La Sulvante . The Unity of Time is followed in the strict 
interpretation of twenty-four hours in three of the oomedies ( en ¬ 
tendre . La Sulvante . La Place Royal©), but is disregarded in the 
other four. The Unity of Place is variously handled, and we find 
different localities in the same town ( Mellte , La Veuve , La Galerle 
du Palais ). buildings around an open square (La Place Royals), 
places that can be reached in twenty-four hours ( Clltandre ). and 
a single locality ( La Sulvante . L* Illusion Comlque ).(l) Unity of 
Time was his greatest concern, as it was for the theorists of the 
period. Unity of Place was still undetermined, in theory as well 
as in practice. This was largely due to the persistence of the 
Bystem of multiplex scenery, which made it possible to have several 
localities on the stage at one time. It is not until the time of 
Horace that this disappears, from Corneille’s plays for it is still 
used in the Cld . 

Verisimilitude as a poetic requirement does not appear in 
these early prefaces, yet, while it is scarcely fair to seek the 
same poetic verisimilitude in comedies that we should require of 
Tragedy, an examination of these early plays will give us some in¬ 
dications as to Corneille's conception of this basic principle in 

l~~~C£~~ltatzke f J. 2. : "The Unity of Place in the Cid", 

XIII (1890), p. 396. 























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68 


all dramatic writing. Following as he did the generation of 
Hardy, at a time when tragi-comedy was at its height, and the 
theater-going public required the romanesque in fable and inven¬ 
tion, the new poet naturally followed the popular trend. In 
fact, Mellte was censured for its "pen d’effets", a fault which 
Corneille promptly remedied in Clltandre . where the plot is so 
complicated that it requires six pages for the poet himself to 
present the "argument”. That so many and such unexpected 
actions should happen as if by mere coincidence, is not probable, 
in the Aristotelian sense. The fact is that Qorneille was still 
following Hardy, Theophile, and the others, without any regard for 
Verisimilitude. 

Thus in the first seven plays, (still excepting Mode's) , Corn¬ 
eille’s dramatic doctrine considered only the Unities; in this res¬ 
pect he was following the contemporary practice. And in their 
treatment, he considered them in the reversed order which Caetel- 
vetro first set up, holding Time of prime Importance, Place second, 
and Action as the slightest of the three. Already we are far afield 
from Aristotle, whom Corneille probably did not know as yet through 
any study of his own. It is significant that Horace and Scaliger 
are both mentioned in these early prefaces, quite as prominently as 
Aristotle himself.(1) It is clear also that Corneille made much 
progress in his acquaintance with the dramatic rules between 1629, 
at which time he tells us he knew not of their existence (2), and 1636. 

1. apltre a la Sulvante . This,however, dates from 1637. 

2. ^xaraen Ze Melite . 









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69 


Already in the Preface to Clitandre . of 1632, he cites, though 
inaccurately, Horace. We must tell eve that his theoretic know¬ 
ledge was at this time mostly hearsay, which he gathered in his 
conversations with Chapelain, Richelieu, and their "poetes a 
gages”, the ”c/inq auteurs”. 

In Mqdaa, which preceded the Cld by a little less than two 
years, we have the first of Corneille’s tragedies. The question 
immediately presents itself: why should Corneille have turned to 
tragedy, and why should he have chosen the story of Medea? A 
possible answer has been suggested by Professor Searles, who thinks 
that Medee may have been a ’piece de command©'. This theory is bas¬ 
ed on the fact that Corneille was at this time selling his comedies, 
and more particularly because within the year 1634-1626 the troupe 
of Mondory presented three tragedies: la Sophonisbe of Mairet (1), 
M^dee of Corneille, and La Mort de Celsar of Scudery . May it not 
very well be that Mondory himself suggested subjects to three of 
the leading playwrights of the day (2), or at least, that each 
should furnish a tragedy for his repertory? It is known from a 
letter of Balzac to Boisrobert (3) that Mondory himself played the 
leading roles in the three tragedies. Such an hypothesis seems in¬ 
deed plausible. While Professor Lancaster does not accept this 
theory in full he would agree that the return to tragedy was stimu¬ 
lated by Rotrou'e Heroule Mourant . which occasioned a revival of in¬ 
terest in Seneca. Mondory may have wished to have a Senedan play to 

1. The date 1629 given by Marty-Laveaux, II 31 331, should be cor¬ 
rected in accordance with Pannheisser*s dates. Cf . supra , ch. 

Ill, . 

2. Rotrou had given his Hercule Mourant at the Hotel de Bourgogne, 
and he would not be available as a playwright for Mondory's 
rival troupe. 

3. Passage quoted in Marty-Laveaux, II* 330. 



















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70 


rival that of the Hotel de Bourgogne, While all this is mere 
conjecture, yet the fact that Medee stands alone, quite aside 
from Corneille * s practice up to this time, and that it is not 
followed immediately by other tragedies of the same general type, 
tend to make one believe that it was some external force which 
brought forth this first effort. 

The play is Senecan and shows evidence of being patterned 
on contemporary models. The tragic element consists in the 
atrocity of the actions themselves, not in the unhappy outcome of 
a struggle between two noble passions, as in the later tragedies. 

Yet there are some elements in which it definitely foreshadows 
Corneille's later manner. Meflee resembles Cleopatre in Hodoguna : 
both are superhuman women, unsubservient to Fate. Like the later 
plays, Medee is essentially Cornelian in its •invraisemtlances* which 
are the inevitable result of the romanesque elements of the plot and 
its treatment. 

From the point of view of dramatic theories, Medee is of great 
importance. There is much more to hold our attention here than the 
mere treatment of the Unities. First of all, we must concern our¬ 
selves with the subject-matter. Medee is not the only instance in 
Corneille's tragedies where wickedness is the dominant trait: Pompee 
and Hodogune are of the same type. In our earlier chapter on Aris¬ 
totle, we accepted Butcher's interpretation that such subjects, in 
which the chief protagonists are morally bad, were to be rejected 
from the perfect tragedy; but since no definite censure was passed 













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71 


on Euripides for having portrayed the story of Medea, we decided 
that the subject was acceptable in a second-rate tragedy. (1) While 
the subject might indeed receive the sanction of Aristotle, Me&ee 
would still not be Aristotelian under any circumstances, for the 
sorceress remains triumphant throughout. While the ’denouement* 
cannot be called truly tragic-comic because of the death of the 
children of Medea, and the anguish of Jason, it is not thoroughly 
tragic, since Medea never suffers nor falls into adversity. 

As regards the plot itself, it is our great good fortune to 
possess Aristotle’s own verdict, for in the Poetics , the Medea 
theme is mentioned in the classification of the various types of 
tragic plots. Aristotle places an action of this type, where a 
crime is committed with full knowledge of the victims, as third 
among the four possible types. At least he does not discard it en¬ 
tirely. 

But there is one respect, in which this plot errs against Aris¬ 
totelian precept, and for which Euripides is called to task in the 
Poetics (2), namely, that the ’denouement' is brought about by a 
Peu 8 e x Machine. Bow the requirement that a well-known plot must not 
be changed in its main outlines, would have prevented Corneille 
from ending his tragedy otherwise than he did, but to have been Aris¬ 
totelian, he should have devised some other means of escape for the 
sorceress. This plot is, for these two reasons, only a second or 
third-rate type, in Aristotle’s classification. 

1. Cf. supra . ch. I,pp* 

2. JSh. XV. 







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72 


The character of Medea, as protagonist for a tragedy, is a 
subject for some comment also. Aristotle, we have seen, required 
that the character he not wholly good, hut more good than had. We 
analysed the term 'good* to mean something quite apart from moral 
goodness, and considered it to refer to an aesthetic superiority. 

It is to he noted that Aristotle never comments on the Medea of 
Euripides, from any moral point of view. Corneille maintains in 
his Sptt-re (1) to Medee : "...dans la poesie, il ne faut pas consi- 
d^rer si les moeurs sont vertueuses, mais si elles sont parellles 
k celles de la personae qu'elle introauit. Ausei nous d^crit-elle 
indiff^r eminent les bonnes et lee mauvalses actions...." This is 
good Aristotelian doctrine, and brings in the fundamental principle 
of *Vraisemtlance*. 

It is not on the grounds of wickedness that Aristotle would 
bar Medea from the perfect tragic drama, but because she lacks 
that human frailty which is to arouse the pity and fear of the 
spectators. If we take the following lines from the first Act ( II. 
519ff.), we have the character of Medea: 

Herine: Dans un si grand revere que vous reste-t-il? 

Medee: Moi: 

Koi, dis-Je, et c'est assez. 

Nerine: Quoi! vous seule, Madame? 

Medee: Oui, tu vois en moi seule et le fer et la flamme, 

Et la terre, et la mer, et l’enfer, et les cieux, 

Et le sceptre des rois, et la foudre des Dieux. 

She is all-powerful, over Gods and men and Fate. Such she remains 

throughout the tragedy, never wavering from her purpose of revenge. 

1. Written in 1639. 





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75 


In Act III, 8c• 3, we see her defying Jason: 

Ce corps n’enferm© pas une ame si commune; 

Je n'al jamais soufi'ert qu’elle(Ome fit la loi, 

Kt toujours ma fortune a d^pendu de moi. 

In Act V, sc* £, we witness the mental struggle between the aban¬ 
doned wife and the mother, over the project of slaying her children. 
i£ach objection offered by the mother's nature is promptly over¬ 
thrown by a stronger argument from the jealous wife, and the final 
decision is reached (1* 1356): 

Je vous perds. mes enfants; mats Jason voue perdra. Medea 
is very certainly not the perfect protagonist of tragedy, in Aris¬ 
totelian terms. 

Our conclusion is then, that Aristotle would not have suggest¬ 
ed the Medea story as the subject of a perfect tragedy, under any 
circumstances; nor would he, on the other hand, have denied it the 
rank of a third-rate tragedy. The plot is marred by the Deus ex 
Machine .and the character of Medea has neither the required virtue, 
nor the human frailty, so necessary to produce the proper tragic 
effect of arousing Pity and Fear. While there is an unhappy outcome 
for the tragedy, yet it is to be noted that Medea herself triumphs, 
without ever a moment’s weakening. She is not an Aristotelian hero¬ 
ine. 

As to the Mnities, that of Time is rigidly adhered to, and is 
definitely mentioned at various points in the course of the play. The 
closing lines of Act II read: 

£t l’on verre, peut-etre avant le jour fini, 

Ma passion veng^e, et votre orgueil"puni. 


1. La fortune. 






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74 


Act III has a definite mention of Time in the very first speech 
(II. 695, 696): 

Avant que le soleil ait fait encore un tour, 

Ta perte inevitable ach^ve ton amour. 

In act IV (1), plans are made for the morrow, before which, how¬ 
ever, the tragedy is ended. The last reference to time comes in 
the next to the last scene of the play(E): 

Snfln Je n’ai pas mal employ^ b£ .lourn^e 
Que la bontd du Roi, de gr&oe * m'a donn^e. 

This is the most striking of all the passages, and it almost seems 
that the poet is commending hims&lf for his successful handling of 
the troublesome *rkgle des vingt et quatte heures*. 

The Unity of Place is dellt with much more freely, and the 
scene changes twice from the open-air setting of the beginning. (5) 
Corneille has Medea prepare her poisons in " la grotte magique"(4), 
in deference to Verisimilitude, and he presents Aegee in prison.(5) 
A very general type of unity was established by putting at the head 
of the play "La scene est k Corinthe". It will be remembered that 
the critics were satisfied if the action took place within the con¬ 
fines of one city. 

The Unity of Action in the play is perfect, for all the epi¬ 
sodes tend to the principal plot: the revenge of Medea. 

Medea , as has been suggested above, is far more akin to the 
romanesque tragedy which Corneille develops much later, than it is 
to the Old. Horace or Clnna . The particular trait which links this 

1251. 

2. Act V, sc. 6, II* 1673, 1674. 

Z In both Euripides and Seneca, the scene was placed in a public 
square. 4* Act IV, sc. 1. 6* Act IV, sc* 4,6* 






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76 


first tragedy to the later period, is the ’invraisemblance’ of 
character and plot. In the £p1!tre to aedee . Corneille expresses 
a creed to which he always holds: w Je n*examine point si elles 
(the actions) sont vraiserablables ou non: cette difficult©, qui 
ost la plus delicate de la poesie, et peut-etre la moins entendue, 
demanderoit un discours trop long pour une epttre: il rae suffit 
qu’elles sont autorisees ou par la v/rlte de l'histoire, ou par 
1’opinion commune des anciens." 










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76 


CHAPTifl 1 - L£ C£D AMD W THS QUARHKL OP THE CID" 

After two sporadic plays, Medee and I' Illusion Comlque . 
neither of which was in the natural trend of Corneille's de¬ 
velopment, we come to the £id — a tragi-comedy, it will he 
noted, and quite in line with contemporary tendencies. Corn¬ 
eille had familiarised himself with his Spanish sources, part- 

de 

icularly the Mocedades del Cld of Guillen*Castro, even before the 
appearance of L' Illusion Comioue . In this extravaganza Corn¬ 
eille may he said to have tried his hand, before constructing the 
Cld itself, for the character of the Cap!tan Matamore in I' Illus ¬ 
ion is at times a close second to Hodrigue. Yet this comparison 
has undouttedly been over-emphasized, for Hodrigue is essentially 
different from the type of 'miles gloriosus* which was represented 
by the Capitan Matamore. As we have seen in the preceding chapter, 
Corneille allowed full play to his romanesque tendencies in I' Ill ¬ 
usion , whereas in the Cld . he shows the greatest concern for the 
rules — with what felicity,'we shall determine later. 

Before beginning our study of the Cid, it will be well to re¬ 
call the circumstances of its appearance. Concerning the date of the 
first representation there is some doubt as to whether it was at the 
close of the year 1636 or in the early weeks of 1637. (1) Chief 
among our sources of information is a letter of Chapelain, dated Jan- 
1. Cf. Marty-Laveau%. Ill, 8. 














77 


uary 22, 1637 (1), In which he says that the Cld has been enter¬ 
taining Paris, "depute quinze jours". Taken literally, this 
would put the presentation in the early part of 1637, but even 
were one to give a freer translation to the "quinze jours", it 
could not possibly be put back farther than the very end of Dec¬ 
ember, 1636. 

We know that the play was first acted at the Theatre du 
Marais (2) and that it was a complete success. Important among 
the evidences of this favor, is the fact that it was played three 
times at the Louvre and twice at the ’hotel* of the Cardinal. (3) 
Pellisson, in the Histoire de 1* Academie (4) relates the event as 
follows: "On ne pouvoit se laaser de la (5) voir: on n*entendoit 
autre chose dans les compagnles, chacun en savoit quelque partie 
par coeur, on la (6) faisoit apprendre aux enfants, et en plusleurs 
endroits de la Prance, il £tait passe en proverbs de dire: Cela est 
beau comme le Cld". Hor was this favor limited to Prance alone, 
for the whole of iSurppe concerned itself with the new play, and 
it was translated into many languages, including Spanish whence the 
idea had first come to Corneille.(7) Such, then, were the happy 
auspices under which the Cid appeared. It entirely overshadowed the 
other plays of the seaeon, and took the public, loth "la cour et la 


villa", quite by storm. 

The discussion of the Cid is one of the most important ohap- 


1 . 

2 . 

3 . 


Cited in Marty-Laveaux, III, II. 

Marty-Laveaux III, 9; also: Petit de Julleville, __ 

de Corneille, 9th ed. p. 36, Paris, 1913. 

Pe tit de J u l leville, Theatre Chois! , p. 35. 4. P«r1- 

186, 187. Passage quoted by Marty-Laveaux, IIl,i*.— 
Piece du Cid. 6. La piece du Cid . 7. 


Choisi 


, 1663, pp. 

5. La 

Cf. Marty-Laveaux III, 4ff. 












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78 


tere in our study, for this play is the first step in the long 
transition from Hardy to Kacine, -- from the romanesque, external 
action of the tragi-comedy, to the psychological, inner action of 
the perfectly developed classical tragedy. In this connection it 
is important to note that the £id was first actually called 'tragi- 
oom^die*, and it was only in 1644 that it was given the name of 
'trag^die*.(1) This change in classification indicates well the 
double character of this play, which retained from Corneille's 
earlier manner the romanesque action with episodes and episodic 
characters (the Infanta and even Bon Sanohe), and the happy ending. 
Hot all of these elements were due to the historical nature of the 
subject, for Corneille was catering to a considerable degree to the 
tastes of his day. Coming between the Astree of d'Vtfe and the 
’grands romans' of Mile de Scudery and La Calpren&de, Corneille 
followed the popular favor in his Cid. The novel as a 'genre* is 
distinct from the drama by reason of its very length, which permits 
a far broader development of the characters presented; it permits 
also more colorful, more 'pictorial* lackgrounds. Corneille also 
found these same qualities in his Spanish model, which had many 
elements of the epic. It was Corneille's greatest merit that in his 
adaption of this material, he made of it a plot in which the psy¬ 
chological interest dominated. It was due to the dominance of the 
psychological interest that the £id finally received the title of 
'tragedy*• 

But this internal drama is still surrounded by a novelistic, 
if no longer epic.background. It is not until Horace and Polyeucte 
1. Cf. Marty-Laveaux, III, 106. 






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79 


that Corneille evolves a purely psychological drama. And even at 
the height of his power, Corneille doeB not attain to the perfection 
of Bacine: this difference is fundamental in the character of the 
two men, for while Corneille was an ardent admirer of the Human Will, 
of which his plays are the apotheosis, Bacine was a Jasenist, for 
whom "le moi est halssable". 

After this general presentation of the importance of the Cld , 
let us now analyze the elements of the play, and trace its develop¬ 
ment in detail. Whereas in our first chapter, we followed in our 
discussion of topics the order: Verisimilitude, ICathartds, Plot, 
Character, and Unities, as indicative of their importance and cas¬ 
ual connection in the Poetics . we shall adopt a new order in the 
following treatments of Corneille’s tragedies. In the case of the 
Poetics, we were accepting Aristotle's own statement of his doo- 
trlnes, and merely summarizing them anew. In working from the trag¬ 
edies themselves, rather than from a statement of doctrine, we must 
analyze first the nature of the plot and characters before we can 
decide the type of Catharsis produced. Since the Unities were based 
on the Renaissance conception of Poetic Truth, it is only after 
treating all these topics that we can ascertain the place given to 
Verisimilitude by Corneille, and his understanding of this funda¬ 
mental basis of Tragedy. We shall then treat the following topics 
in order: Plot . Character , Catharsis , Unities , and Verisimilitude. 

PLOT 

If we refer back to our chapter on Aristotle's Poet ics we 
shall find that by 'Plot' was meant the arrangement of the incidents, 








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80 


or in other words, the invention of the poet as regards the 
actions to he depicted. In this, Corneille displayed the great¬ 
est genius, for his play, although based on that of Guilhen de 
Castro, is utterly different from the Spanish original in every¬ 
thing hut the kernel: the love of Chimene and Rodrigue, which is 
hindered by the murder of Chimene’s father. The Spanish proto¬ 
type is a national drama, with much local color. It knew no re¬ 
straining Unities, hut portrayed in generous proportions all the 
scenes of Don Rodrigo’s increasing pwowess. The play comprised 
three 'journees’, and the time of the action was about three years(l). 
The whole was spectacular and colorful, and bordered on the epic 
romance in its general outline. Corneille made of this a French 
classic tragedy (for the Cid was early recognized to be essentially 
tragic), that is, he universalized the national element, omitted the 
many irrelevant scenes of the prototype, and by reducing the external 
action, made of the play a psychological conflict in the minds of the 
protagonists. We shall traee the details of this adaptation under 
the special headings, as they occur in this study. 

In Corneille’s plot, there are the following external actions: 

the soufflet; the fatal duel between Don Rodrigue and the count; the 

battle with the Moors; the duel with Bon Sanche. This represented 

the utmost concentration of the subject. We could not allow space 

here for the briefest outline of the Spanish play, so encumbered is 

it with episodes and incidents.(2) Yet, despite this conscious com- 

1. Cf. Marty-Laveaux III, pp. H07 ff. for analysis of Las Mocedadee 
cTel Cid. Corneille utilized only the first 'Journee’ of the 
Spanish play, but this covered about one year's time. 2. Cf. 

Sega11 J.B.: Corneille and the Spanish Lr&ma , pp. 34ff. for de¬ 
tailed outline of Las Mocedadee and comparison with the Cid . 










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pression, Corneille's plot is over-burdened, because instead of 
a year*8 time, he was allowed but twenty-four hours. The 'in- 
vraisemblances' due to the Unity of Time will be discussed in 
the section of Unities, when we shall find that it was because 
of the excess of incident that Corneille could not be quite 
Just to the rule of twenty-lour hours. 

The play emanates from the fatal soufflet (l). and it is 
because of this that Rodrigue is bound to tales vengeance on the 
father of Chimene; as the reufclt of the outcome of this duel, 
in turn, Chimene must seek the death of Rodrigue; it is indirect¬ 
ly due to the nocturnal visit of the Moors that Rodrigue becomes 
so highly esteemed, and it is because of this victory that the 
king pardons him, and so on through the play. It is, then, be¬ 
cause of the actions which have transpired in the play, that the 
'denouement' is reached. 

But if we examine the Cid a little closer, we must realize 
that neither of the duels, nor the battle with the Moors is re¬ 
presented on the stage. What Is actually represented, is psy¬ 
chological 'action. If we ask ourselves, with Rigal (2), "Quel est 
le sujet en somme?", we must answer, "L*amour de Rodrigue et de 
Chimene en lutte avec 1'obligation cruelle ou ils eont" — an 


action which is thoroughly psychological. Rigal further points 
out (3) that in the great effort to reduce the Spanish original to 


the rules, Corneille was forced to leave out all the external action 


1 . 

2 . 

3. 


Act I. sc. 3, 1. 226. 

De Jodelle k Moli&re. Paris, 1911, p. 214. 
Ibid ., pp. £18, 2197 






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represented in his model. He continues, "le theatre vit d'action, 
soit; male d'abord agir n'est pas s'agiter, et ensuite on vit 
aussi Men moralement que physiquement; c'est agir qne de penser, 
agir qne de d^tester on d'aimer, agir qne do vonloir. Et le 
speotatenr s'interessera aux personnages de la pifeoe s'lie agissent 
de eette mani&re, k la condition que le poete sanra rendre dans ses 
vers lenre pensees, lenre passions et leors volontee, k la condition 
qn'il sanra fair© vivre et faire voir en qnelqne facon des ernes. n 

Here it is that we come in contact with Bacine, the past- 
master in the depiction of psychological action. We are forced to 
inetitnte a comparison between the Cld ef Corneille and Racine's 
masterpieces. Does Corneille here portray characters (since psycho¬ 
logical action is the portrayal of character in action), in the 
manner of Bacine? Ho. There is a fundamental difference between 
Corneille and Racine: Corneille's natural inclination was towards 
the romanesque — the extraordinary in character and situation. 
Racine, on the other hand, chose plots simple loth in material and 
in action, with a situation of frequent occurrence. These he 
developed psychologically, and the result was a closely knit and 
unified whole, unimpaired by external elements. How when the press¬ 
ure of critics is brought to tear upon two such natures, the effect 
is quite different in the two cases. It does not disturb the natural 
habits of Racine, but it works havoc with torneille. To link 
'vraisemilance*, with all it implies, to his romanesque, is an im- 



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83 


possible feat* The two remain necessarily distinct* since the 
essential nature of the romanesque is its feature of 'invraisem- 
tlance'. But Corneille attempted the impossible,and the ineri- 
table result was that his plays hare a double action, inner and 
outer, psychological and romanesque, tragic and tragic-comic. 

Whereas Racine chose his subjects with a view to their 
poetic rarity, that is, their universality, Corneille chose his 
from the opposite point of view, which Rlgal describes for us: 
"Corneille aime les sujets extraordinaires, et, pour tout dire, 
inrraisemllables; aussi les cherche-t-il patiemment dans t*-* 
d'histoire, et quand il les a trouves, repond-il victorious ment 
oux diffidles qui repugnent a les admettre: mon action est 
historique et n'a point besoln de vraisemblance, parce qu'elle 
a I'appui de la rerite’ "• (1) To the romanesque theme found 
by such means, Corneille then adds psychology. He seeks to make 
the romanesque psychologically true; but the standard of his psy¬ 
chology is the fieo-Platonic ideal of the parfait amant . As Pro¬ 
fessor Hitze states (2), "the poet's characters react, not to 
their attachment to an individual, but to the m.re or less perfect¬ 
ion of which they believe that individual capable. Chimene loves 
Rodrigue, not for himself, but because of his heroism, and to be 
worthy of his heroism she herself must be heroic: 

Tu n'as fait le devoir que d'un homme de bien; 

Mais aussi, le faisant, tu m’as appris le mien.^ ^ 


The struggle in the Cid is not single, it is double: a struggle on 

i~"~pe" jodeUe a Hpllere. p. 181. 

2. Sod. Phil. XV (1917), 132. 











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84 


the one hand in the characters themselves between love and duty, 
and on the other a struggle to make the two ideals agree"• In 
the Cid . the characters are true to a Heo-Platonic ideal, since 
both Bodrigue and Chimene live up to the demands placed upon 
them by duty and do not yield to love until after each has made 
himself worthy of the other. But this Neo-Platonic psychology is 
not what we mean by psychologically true, in common parlance. We 
refer to the Aristotelian •vraisemblance *, which, as applied to 
characters, means the quality of being ’true to life*. Thus, 
while Corneille’s characters may be true to a Neo-Platonic ideal, 
they are not true to life; those of Racine are; and we have seen 
the reason for this basic difference. 

But in the Cid . as we have seen, there is a double action, 
inner and outer, psychological and external. Nothing in the 
Poetics would Justify this, but in Castelvetro’s rather involved 
analysis we found the presentation of the two types of action. In 
lasing a play upon psychological action, Corneille is following the 
Italian critic rather than Aristotle. Yet we are not free to say 
that he is acting contrary to Aristotle; for while he makes psy¬ 
chological action the basis of the play, it is the action resulting 
from the psychology, and not dhe psychology itself which is por¬ 
trayed to us. We should rather say that Castelvetro, and Corneille 
in turn, transcend Aristotle. That is to say, they extend the field, 
but still in the same direction, and without admitting anything 
which is contrary to the dictates of Aristotle. 

To turn now to the details of the Plot, we find that the Cid 
is built on the complex plan, which was recommended by Aristotle. 



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85 


There is a first reversal of fortune in Act I (1), occasioned by 

the ’soufflet*, referred to several times in the course of the 

play. It is anticipated in line 50: 

lit dans ce grand bonheur je crains un grand revere. 

and is echoed again in lines 462 ff: 

J’aimois, j’etois aimee, et nos p&res d’accord; 

£t je vous en contois la premiere nouvelle, 

Au malheureux moment que naissoit leur querelle, 

Dont le recit fatal, sitot qu’on vous l’a fait, 

L’une si douce attente a ruine l’effet. 

Later in the play there are two more reversals of fortune: in 
Act II, so. 7, the death of the count increases the bad fortune 
already announced by the fatal ’soufflet*; and in Aot V, sc. 1, 
Hodrigue’s victory over the Moors, which is the beginning of the 
good fortune whioh continues throughout the rest of the play. All 
the actions are the necessary or the probable results of what had 
preceded, except the Moor theme which is not inherent in the main 
plot. It is historical however, and, also,it enhances greatly 
Hodrigue's prowess, which gives it a closely psychological connec¬ 
tion with the plot. However, the final ’denouement’ is not Aris¬ 
totelian, since Aristotle requires an unhappy ending for Tragedy.(2) 

The happy ending for the Gid was historical and Corneille felt bound 
to retain the ’denouement* as it was in the legend. To have made 
this an Aristotelian play, Bodrigue should have Jellied himself in 
despair, or Chim&ne should have hilled him, but this was not historical. 
The happy ending is one of the remnants of tragi-comedy in the Cld , 

1. 9c. 5, 1. 226. 

2. Poetics . XIII. 





86 


and was the only natural ending for a play of this noveliatlo 
type. W© have seen that Castelvetro did admit the happy ending 
for Tragedy, with one reserve, that it would make the Aristote¬ 
lian Katharsis impossible. We shall find later in this dis¬ 
cussion of the Cid . that this theory is borne out. 

Accordingly, even having granted that the psychological 
material of the subject would have been admitted by Aristotle, 
the plot could never have been admitted, sinoe the poet could 
neither falsify the received legend, nor end a tragedy happily. 

It is on this basis that ScudVry later argued that M le sujet ne 
vaut rien du tout rt (l), in which condemnation he is thoroughly 
justified, since he was judging the play on a purely Aristote¬ 
lian basis. The fact is that the play suffers from its dual nat¬ 
ure: it is psychologically a tragedy, for Love is sacrificed three 
times, in spite of the fact that ©himene never sacrifices her love 
for Bodrigue(l). The natural development of the plot would have 
resulted in the final sacrifice of Love to Duty. But the histori¬ 
cal, novelistic background mad© of the plot a tragi-comedy, with 
a happy encing. This makes it clear why Corneille was first oblig¬ 
ed to call the play a tragi-comedy.(2) Because of its complicated 
plot, its double action, and its happy ending, the Cid was basic¬ 
ally un-Aristotelian. 

CHARACTERS 

Let us now test the characters of the Cid, beginning with Rod¬ 
rigue. It is interesting to see first of all what Corneille says 

1. Cf. final test when Chimene entreats Rodrigue not to allow 
himself to be killed in the duel with Lon Sanche (Act V, sc. 

1) 2. Gast^, Armand; a Querelle du Cid. Baris, 1898, p. 

75: "Cet evenement estoifc ton pour I'Hlstorien, mais il ne 
vaioit rien pour le Poete." 





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87 


himself about hie characters* In the Avertlgsement du Old (1), 
he says that the play has the two "mattresses conditions”, one 
of which concerned itself with the plot, and the second is that 
"celui qui souffre et est persecute ne soit ni tout mechant ni 

?iU-Z asytfj if)OA, O 

tout vertueux, male un homme A foiVl esse humaine qui ne soiVpas 

'yJL 

un crime, tombe dans un malheur qu'il^ merit© pas". (2) On the 
surface, this sounds like good reasoning, but to one who knows 
the text of Aristotle, it is evidently a distortion* Aristotle 
does not say that the ideal tragio hero is the victim of some 
human frailty, but of some frailty within his own nature* Rod¬ 
rigue does not suffer as the result of any frailty in his own 
nature, but because of the human frailty of Jealousy in his 
father Don Diegue* Rodrigue can certainly not be called " a man 
like ourselves”^ for he wine the duel with the Count, the battle 
against the Moors, and a second duel with Don Sanche without so 
much as a single hour’s rest between victories* This crowding of 
the time element has the effect of making Rodrigue more than ever a 
supertaan figure. He never yields to his love, although he does 
appear to weaken for a moment in hie lyric monologue. Like the 
knight of old, he marches straight forward in the path of duty, 
without a backward look* It would be an insult to feel pity or 
fear for such a hero. He lacks the frailty which would render him 
sympathetic, and cannot arouse the Aristotelian pity and fear. In 
this connection we can quote line 1057 2 

1* Marty-Laveaux, III, p« 86. 

2. 0j>. clt *, p# 86. 












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Mais d'un si brave eoeur elolgne ces foiblesses." 

Corneille will not admit a single weakness in hie hero# In Bod- 
rigne we see the type of super-man, which ia eo frequent in the 
later plays of Corneille# 

Chim'ene likewise is superhuman in her steadfastness of pur¬ 
pose, and her relentless pursuit of vengeance against the man she 
loves. She show® no human frailty, unless her love for Bodrigue, 
even after the murder of her father, might be considered a frailty# 
But rather than a frailty, it is her strength. The power of her 
love is such that she can hold it aloft, unspoiled and unharmed 
until the tide of vengeance is past. Through the whole action, one 
feels that Chimine's love stands triumphant, only waiting for a 
fitting moment in which to declare itself. Chim&ne is absolute 
mistress of herself and her situation and cannot call forth our pity 
or fear. We are confident that she will free herself from the laby¬ 
rinth of conflicting love and duty and come out victorious in the 
end. In saying this, we have said that our heroine, like our hero, 
is un-Aristotelian in the first quality necessary to a tragic figure. 

We shall now further test the character of Bodrigue as to the 
three specific qualities required of the ideal tragic hero, that ha 
be semblatle , convenable , and egal . (1) 

We have already seen that the first of these terms requires 

that the poet paint the character as history or public opinion por- 

1. These ere the conventional terms in French, for what we have 

translated as 'true to life’, 'true to type* and 'true to self'. 
Cf. supra , p. • 





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trays it. We have further specified that the t erm means 'true to lifci* • 
It ia on this score again that the story of the Cid could never he 
Aristotelian. It is not *vraisemblable*, i.e. t 'probable' # for this 
tragedy to end happily, although the sublet is historical. But we 
are anticipating our conclusion before the facts have been proven. 

Let us examine Rodrigue. Id he semtlable ? Is he true to history 
and at the same time true to life? I quote here from Lemsltre (1): 

"On seralt asses mal aujourd 'hui de mettre © la scene le vrai Cid, 
o'est-a-dire un chef de bands feroce et pillard". But these are 
the details which, had they been portrayed, would have robbed the 
character of its universality. Assuredly, Rodrigue is semtlable. He 
is the great national hero of Spain, a glorious chieftain, with the 
eternal courage of a great soldier. 

Is Chimene true to life? Here we meet with a somewhat more 
perplering character. The great situation where the law of pro¬ 
bability is most evident, is in the 'denouement': is it semi 1 able 
that Chimene should marry her father's murderer? Scudery (2) says 
emphatically HO, and uses this as a firm handle in his denouncement 
of the play. We must Indeed agree, most especially when we reflect 
that, from the beginning to the end, the time of the play is only 
twenty-four hours. How shall we explain this improbable character? 

In the first place it is historical, and to this extent, semi 1 able . 

As we have seen, the Spanish original of Guilhen de Castro covered 
about a year's time, and we can realize that a certain giving-in and 
brealcing-down of barriers on the part of the heroine might easily 

1. Corneille et la. Po^tlque d' Arletote , Paris, 1886, p. 27. 

2. Quoted in ff&sTeV A.: LaSuerelle flu Cid . Paris, 1898, pp. 76 ff. 











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take plaoe. flow when Corneille took o▼<r the story, he had to 
change it to a great extent, due to the famous and unavoidable 
Unities. To contain his subject in twenty-four hours,(and this 
was the most rigid of the dramatic rules), Corneille had to resort 
to an improbable possibility, which, it will be remembered, is con¬ 
demned by Aristotle. But Corneille has managed to deceive his aud¬ 
ience as to time at the very end of the play, or at least he breaks 
away from the one-day plan nnd gives a year before the real end of 
the play. Compare verse 1821. 

"Breads un an, si tu veux, pour essuyer tes larmes." (1) 

This was the be t arrangement he could find to tell his story with¬ 
in the rules. It is at this point that we realise the complete un- 

Aristotelian nature of this play. The basic difficulty lay, not with 
the dramatic method of Corneille, but with the subject he had chosen. 
Chimene is not a universal type; she is not true to life. In Spite 
of the fact, and indeed, because of the fact, that Corneille painted 
Chimene true to history, being a romaneeque figure, she could not be 
true to life in the Aristotelian sense. 

Our second term was true to type , and we must now examine our 
characters for this quality. Returning to Rodrigue, do we find him 
always doing the things a youthful, high-spirited Spanish nobleman 
should do? To one familiar with the rigid Spanish honor code it be¬ 
comes immediately apparent that Rodrigue had his duty marked out for 
him very definitely. For a Spanish hidalgo who had lost his Honor, 
everything, including Love and even Life itself, had to be sacrificed 
i:~~Cf7 infra p. °n for full discussion of the Unities. 



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91 


to redeem the lost Honor. It ie Rodrigue’s boun&en duty to avenge 
hie father and he does it; it is right for him to offer his life 
to Chimene, since the obligations of Love are second only to Honor, 
and Rodrigue places his life at her feet over and over again. At 
the end of the play, he goes off satisfied and happy in the pursuit 
of nee honors and distinctions. There is no point at which the 
reader stops with a Jerk, surprised at some action of Lon Rodrigue. 

How about Chimene? She ie a noblewoman, in love with Rod¬ 
rigue, forced by Honor to seek vengeance on her lover. Loee she 
ever act in a manner unbefitting her station? In this connection 
we must recall that Aristotle had said expressly that a woman must 
not be represented as valorous. How is it not undue valor on the 
part of Chimene to pursue Rodrigue so insistently and unceasingly? Is 
it probable that a sweetheart would refuse every possible means of 
plaeatlon, and reconciliation, even though backed by the king and the 
people? The Infanta says, Act IV, sc. 8, 11. 1183 ff.: 

QuoiS pour venger un pere est-il Jamals permis 
Le livrer sa patrie aux mains des ennemis? 

Contre nous ta poursulte est-elle legitime, 

£t pour £tre punis avons-nous part au^crlms? 

Ce n’est pas qu'apres tout tu doives epoueer 
Celui qu’un plre mort t’otligeoit d’accuser: 

Je te vou<3jJois moi-meme en arraoher I’envie; 

Cte-lui ton amour, m&is laisse-nous sa vie. 

Vs must then recognise that Chiniene is highly valorous, a super- 
woman, and in this quality, is not true to type, according to Aris¬ 
totelian requirements. (1) And we may say here that this quality 
of manly, valorous women la one which is constant in Corneille, one 

l.~~The modern critic may not agree with Aristotle, for, sine© Greek 
times, the r61e of Woman has become increasingly important, and 
her strength of Will has been recognized. Corneille had 
numerous examples of valorous women before hie mind in his own 

time. 



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92 


in which he i& essentially un-Aristotelian. 

The third requirement for character was e / galite / . or the quality 

of consistency. Or if a character was by nature inconsistent, he 

should remain consistently inconsistent. First then, we are to 

determine the characteristics of our personnage®. Rodrigue is first 

presented to us as valorous even before we see him, 1. £6 ff.: 

Tons deux formes d'un sang nolle, vaillant, fidele, 

Jeunes, male qui font lire aisement dans leurs yeux 
L r eclatante vertu de leurs braves aieux. 

Pon Rodrigue surtout n'a trait en eon visage 
Qui d'un homme de coeur ne soit la haute image. 

The first time Rodrigue appears on the stage is in sc. 6, where Pon 
Piegue tells Rodrigue of the insult and asks him to avenge his 
father. Here Rodrigue acts the part of the highly valorous charac¬ 
ter: he resolves to listen only to his duty to his father, 1. 346 ff.: 

Courons a la vengeance; . 

Et tout honteux d‘avoir tant balance, 

Ke soyons plus en peine, ^ 7 

Puisqu’aujourd *hui mon pere est 'offense. 

Si l'offenseur est pere d© Chimene. 

In insisting upon the duel with the Count, Rodrigue is consistent 
with his decision. In his subsequent manner towards Chimene, Rod¬ 
rigue is still consistent with what he first felt to be right. In 
line 1616, Chimene, by & misunderstanding of his intent, accuses him 
of inconsistency: 

Quelle inegalite ravale ta vertu? 

This cannot but be a conscious touch of Aristotelianism on the part 

of Corneille. Rodrigue never wavers throughout the play,(l) and in 

1. Unless we except the 'stances' in which he seems to weaken for 
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93 


the last line, Corneille repeats the keyword to the oharacter of 
his hero: 

Laisse faire le temps, ta valllance et ton roi. 

Is Chimene similarly consistent? Oae would scarcely say so* 

She loves Rodrigue and makes no attempt to conceal the fact, until 
after the outcome of the fatal duel. Then she immediately heoomes 
violent against him — a change which is perhaps almost natural, 
and certainly could not he called the result of inconsistency. But 
this violence, we cannot help feeling, is only skin deep. Thus on 
both occasions, when through false reports (Act IV, sc. 6; Act V, so. 
6), Chimene believes Rodrigue to le killed, she gives way to the full 
expression of her love for him. She thinks that she has obtained 
what she was so intent upon having, yet she is thoroughly unhappy. 
This spirit shows itself also in conversations with Slvire, her 
’confidante*. In line 810 she avows her actual situation: 

C’eet peu de dire aimer, Rlvire: Je i»adore. 

Through the whole scene she shows first one side and then the other. 
Cf. 11. 827, 828: 

Je demand© sa tete, et cralns de l’ottenlr: 

Ma mort suivra la sienne, et Je le veux punir! 

Act V, sc# 1 is where Rodrigue comes before Chimene. Here we have 

the most vivid and dramatic dash between Chimene*s two natures. 

She begins (1. 1466): 

Quoii Rodrigue, en plein Jour! D’ou te vient cette audaoe? 
Here she speaks like a raging lien, but she ends the scene like a 
lamb (1. 1556 ff): 



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94 


Bi jamais 1’amour echauffa tee eeprits, (1) 

Sors vsinqueur d'un combat dont ChimSne est le prix. 

But her last line here is again in th8 first tone: 

Adieu: oe mot lSchs me fait rougir de honte. 

It ia now apparent that the character is not consistent, but it is 
consistently inconsistent* In the Avertissement du Cid (2), Corn¬ 
eille says, "See moeurs (de Chim^ne) sont inegalement egales (3), 
pour parler en termes de notre Ariatote, et changent suivant lea 
oirconstances des lieux, des personnes, des temps et des occasions, 
en conservant toujours le m&ne principe". 

To summarize our investigations as regards character, we have 
found that Hodrigue is semblable . is convenable . and is egal . but he 
lacks the first quality of the fatal weakness. He is wholly 
virtuous, and therefore cannot be an ideal tragic hero from the Aris¬ 
totelian point of view. Chimen© is not is not convenable, 

1b not ^gale . although in this last point she fulfills Aristotelian 
requirements by being £galement inegale . But we Sound her to be valor¬ 
ous, and always mistress of her situation, so that she to© falls short 
of Aristotle’s requirements. The fact that our hero and heroine are 
essentially un-Aristotelian figures is going to affeot the whole turn 
of the tragedy, as has been hinted in the section on Plot, and as will 
be manifestly proven in the following paragraphs on katharifcs. 

£AT T ?AKS IS 

We have seen in the preceding sections on Plot and Character, that 

1. Variant of 1637 edition. 

2. Marty-Laveaux, III, p. 83. 

3. This changed form of the expression does not alter tbs essential 
meaning, in Corneille's mind. 

















95 


the Cid did not fulfill the Aristotelian requirements in these two 
respects. We have said also in our first chapter that Aristotle’s 
doctrine was that the purpose of Tragedy was the arousing of Pity 
and Fear, and the requirements of Plot and Character were such as to 
conduce to this end. Thus if the plot or the characters are un-Aris¬ 
totelian, the proper Catharsis could not he effected. We have already 
determined that because of its happy ending, and the superhuman 
qualities of Rodrigue and Chimene, the subject of the Cld did not 
permit of tragic treatment in the Aristotelian sense. 

It was for this reason that the Aoademie made its several suggest¬ 
ions as to possible remedies for this defect: Rodrigue should have 
teen killed at the hands of the Moors, or at least by Don Sanche, or he 
should have died of love. Another solution would have been for Chim&ne 
to have died, and Rodrigue should then have killed himself in despair. 

Or if none of these were feasible, at least, the lovers should have 
been irretrievably separated at the end of the tragedy. Any of these 
melodramatic outcomes would have fulfilled the requirements of an un¬ 
happy ending, and would have Introduced the tragic flaw in these super¬ 
human characters. But, alas, it would have violated the other Aris¬ 
totelian requirement of keeping intaot the framework of an accepted 
legendl This Corneille understood full well, and it is to his credit 
that he was not misguided in this instance by the scathing comments of 
the critics. 

Granted that the Cid, for these reasons, could not arouse the 
Aristotelian Pity and Fear, it is none the less a tragedy, which met 


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96 


nith overwhelming end immediate success at its appearance, and has 
held the public ever since. It is an heroic tragedy, k la Minturno, 
arotiaing not so much Bity and Peer, tot rather Admiration. . In this 
connection, Butcher makes a very significant comment: "The true tragic 
fear becomes an almost impersonal emotion, attaching itself not so 
much to this or that particular incident, a8 to the general course of 
the action which is for us an image of human destiny. We are thrilled 
with awe at the greatness of the Issues thus unfolded, and with the 
moral inevitablenees of the result. In the awe so inspired the emotions 
of fear and pity are blended”. (1) Indeed, it is ’awe* which we feel 
in watching the characters of Bodrigue and Chimene; it is an emotion 
of suspense, whose real nature is not determined until the outcome of 
the play, but is prepared at many points in its development. When we 
realise that both Bodrigue and Chimene are superhuman and will over¬ 
come all obstacles, our ‘awe* loses any element of fear and becomes 
pure wonder or admiration. How in our section on the meaning of 
admiration as used by Minturno, we determined that he had in mind won¬ 
der or admiration of the skill of the poet. Corneille has now adapted 
the term, to mean admiration of the characters depicted by the poet. 

This was a very natural development for Corneille, whose fondness for 
the heroic and romanesque was never wholly overshadowed by his concern 
for the rules. Whether Corneille himself realized that by making 
Admiration the keynote to hie play, he was establishing a new type of 
tragedy on the French stage, we cannot be certain. We know that Corn- 
1. Butcher, oj>. cit., pp. 262, 263. 











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97 


eille was acquainted with Mlnturno's work, either directly or in¬ 
directly, for in the Kxamen de Polyeucte . Minturno is cited in 
justification of the wholly virtuous character of the hero* In 
the <L?:amen de Hlcom^dc . Corneille says,"Dane 1 'admiration •«.*•• 
je trouve une mani^re de purger lee passions dont n'a point parl^ 
Aristote, et qui est peut^tre plus sure que eelle qu'il prescrit k 
l* 5 trag^die par le raoyen de la pitie" et de la crainte". But since 
these references to the Italian work are so long after the writing 
of the Cld, we have all reason to suspect that in 1656, it was the 
personal genius of Corneille which led him to develop the heroic type 
of tragedy. This necessarily brought him to set aside Pity and Pear 
for Admiration. We are not to believe that when Corneille wrote the 
Cid . he had any purpose in mind, ethical or aesthetic, other than to 
give pleasure to hie audience. 1 heartily believe that he intended 
his characters to be admired, not for the purpose of moral uplift, 
hut merely for enjoyment. It is not until 1660 in the Discours that 
he ascribed an ethical function to the Cid, and even then, he was 
frankly skeptical as to whether it had any ethical effect or not. 

UNITIES 

Coming to the Unities, we find ourselves in the midst of the 
most perplexing problem in Corneille. We have followed the history 
of the Unities, and have seen that this had become the vital question 
of dramatic doctrine on the French stage. We have also recalled that 
in writing his first play, Corneille was completely ignorant of these 
rules, and that by 1636 he had become better acquainted with them, 











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98 


through frequent intercourse with Chapel sin and his group* 

Although the Unities of Time and Place had come to hare greater 
importance for the dramatist than the Unity of Action, we shall here 
return to the true Aristotelian order, and first inquire into the 
Unity of Plot, in the Cid. 

The •eoufflet*, the duel, the combat with the Moors, the duel 

with Don Sanche, constitute "une serie principal© d'actions. 

qui decoulent dee caracteree des pereonnages" (1), and the end of 
the play leaves the characters in "un etat nouveau qui ait chance 
de dur^e".(1) It is true that the appearance of the Moore comes 
late in the play, contrary to the theory which Corneille himself was 
later to set up, that all actors should either appear or he mentioned 
in the first Act* In so far as the tattle with the Moors has no direct 
relation to the love of Rodrigue and Chimfene, it may he considered to 
harm the Unity of Action. But, on the other hand, since this victory 
was the source of Rodrigue's great favor with the £ing, and this faVor 
brings atout the happy ending of the play, the scene with the Moore 
(which.lt will he recalled, is not presented in the play), may he eh id 
to he truly a part of the principal action. 

Thus far we have left out of consideration the role of the In- Vv 
fanta. In the Spanish original the Infanta played an important part, 
tut the Spanish play, limited Vy no Unities, covered about a year's 
time. Rigal (2) describes Corneille's situation as follows, w 2n 
eupprimant la scfcne obt Rodrigue est arme chevalier, celle du duel, 
celle oti Rodrigue, au loin, devant un chateau, fuit la rencontre de 

1. Definition of Unity of Action given by Lemaltre: Corneille ©t la 
Poetlque d'Aristote.Paris, 1886. 

2. De JodeTle a Molikfe . p. 216. 









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99 


1*Infante, 3*&i (Corneille) eupprime toue lee points de contact cntre 
eette Infante et Rodrigue; die lore, a quoi ce pereonnnge servirait- 
il? A rehausser Rodrtgfc* par 1 «b sentiments qu’eerouve une fille de 
roi pour un simple chevalier, et k fa Ire aussi mieux apprecier 1* 
amour que Rodrigue port© a Chlmine? Soit; mais c'eet sane doute 1& 
un motif insuffieent pour fair© parcttre et parler h aaintes reprises 
1*Infante, et je ae puis me diesimuler qua ce personnage compromet 
l*unit£ que je venais d’assurer i la piece”. Put he consoles him¬ 
self, "les beaux esprits m’en voudront beaueoup moine de compromettre 
1’unite d*action que de manquer * la regie des vingt-quatre heures, et 
le pullic ne m'en voudrs sans doute pas du tout”. In this last clause 
there is a certain amount of romantic irony, and we see the playwright 
whose first interest is to please the putlic. (1) Corneille is made 
to admit that the Infanta is extraneous to the action, hut by saying 
that the role is historical, we have cleared Corneille of any accusa¬ 
tion of an absolute lack of dramatic sense. For Corneille, history 
could not be meddled with, and he had nothing to change in the facts 
themselves. But one wonders, since Corneille struck out so much from 
his model, if he did not perhaps have a stronger reason for retaining 
thejflgure of the Infanta than mere history. And indeed there are two 
important ends served by the Infanta. In the first place, she repres¬ 
ents the ’amour courtois’, together with Rodrigue, *le parfait ament*. 
One has but to turn to the grande remans of Honor/ d’U Tie and Mile de 
Scud^ry, to find the 'amour courtois’, which was enjoying such great 
vogue at the time. The Infanta appealed to Corneille as a figure who 
1. Cf. Petit de Julleville, Morceaux Choisls . p. 48. 







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100 


would take well at the court. We have seen how the play was 
hullt up around a Heo-Platonic ideal, and the Infanta fits in¬ 
to this Neo-Platonie system of life where all is courtly, no¬ 
thing real. Hodrigue's glory is much enhanced ty the love of 
the royal Infanta, and he is made a more noble suiter for Chi- 
mene. In the second place, the Infanta is a foil to Chimene. 

Ko novel or play was complete without a foil to the heroine. The 
Infanta is the complement to Chimene, Just as Don Sanche is the 
complement to Rodrigue, loth hero and heroine must have their 
foils, to mice the structure of the play complete and perfectly 
balanced. Ho one has thought to challenge Don Sanche as endanger¬ 
ing the Unity of Action, and w© might say that the Infanta serves 
the same purpose in the play. We have now suggested three possi¬ 
ble reasons for the retention of the role of the Infanta, but we 
have not proven that she does not injure the effect of unity in 
the ensemble. She is decidedly weak on the dramatic side (1), and 
Corneille was here led astray by the ’grand© romans' and their 
Celadons. In summary we may say that the Cid has Unity of Action, 
with this single exception of the role of the Infanta.(2) 

Hext in the true Aristotelian order comes the Unity of Time. 
This we have seen to be the unfortunate victim of the rationalizing 
process of the Renaissance Italian critics, and we have seen how 
Castelvetro insists that the time of the action coincide with that 
of the representation. How Corneille’s situation is interesting. It 

1. At only one point does the Infanta take any real part in the 
action (Act IY, sc. 2), and then it is without result. 

2. As the Cid, is now performed, the role of the Infanta is gener¬ 
ally omitted, thue giving to the play perfect Unity of Action. 



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101 


will be remembered (1) that in the ixamen to ^ute .he says that 
the Unity of Action and that of Place had been revealed to him 
through mere common sense, but not so with the Unity of Time. 

When we Judge the Cid by the twenty-four hour rule, we are 
a little puzzled. In the passage quoted from Kigal concerning the 
Unity of Action, we are made aware of the great effort which 
Corneille made to reduce his Spanish original to the dimensions of 
a well-ordered play. But the subject was too big, and did not lend 
itself to a twenty-four hour arrangement. However, Corneille made 
a very conscious effort to limit it to one day, even though it 
brought a murder, a battle with the Moors, and the betrothal of the 
girl to the murderer of her father, all in one day. 

If we go through the play, verse by verse, we can gather a 
goodly number of quotations in which there seems to be a very 
pointed reference to the duration of time in the play. I shall 
point out here some of the most merited instances. We apparently be¬ 
gin in the early afternoon (2), since in 1. 39, £lvire says to the 
count: 


II nlloit au coneeil, dont I'heure qui pressoit, 
A tranche ce discours qu’S peine il commeneoit. 


By line 629, we are in the evening: 

L'effroi que produiroit cette slarme inutile, 

Dans la nuit qui survlent trcubleroit trop la ville. 

In line 866, It would sc^em as if we are being reminded that the 


poet is not infringing on the rules: 


Ah.’ quelle cruaut^, qui tout en un Jour tue 
L© pVre par le fer, la fille par Is vue. 


1 . 

2 . 



supra* Ch. IV, 

tetlf de Julleville, Morceau* Choleic , p. 


186, note 3. 










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This, however, might be accidental (1. 975): 

Dans l f ombre de la, nuit , cache bien ton depart. 

Here we are well into the night, 11* 1075, 1076: 

Lea Mores vont deacendre, et le flux et la nuit 
Dans une heure k noa inuro les amke sans bruit# 

Here we can have no doubt but that Corneille ♦stuc* in* the time 

element as a warning against objectors. To give a concrete time 

limit is not within the habits of classic drama. But the moat 

striking reference in the whole play is 11. 1107, 1106: 

Trois heurea de combat laissent k nos guerriers, 

Une vie to ire on ti fere et deux rois pri aonniers. 

Petit de Julleville says in regard to this line: "La bataille a 

dur£ trois heures, Blvire 1’annonce k Chiiafene, comme pour bien pre- 

ciser devant lea spectateurs que la rfegle fatale eat observ&e dans 

ea rigueur: il pout y avoir vingt heures que la pifece eot commences. 

II en rest© quatre pour I’acheverj et ces quatre heures suffiront# (l) 

In 1. 1169 we have come to the next day, but not beyond the twenty- 

four hours. 

Hier ce devoir te mlt en une haute estime. 

In 1* 1175 we have another reference to the second day: 

Ce qui fut Juste alors ne l 1 eat plus aujourd’hui 


and again in 1. 1435: 

Aprfes ce que iiodrigue a fait voir aujourd*hui. 

But these references to a second day do not necessarily mean that 

the play exceeds twenty-four hours, since we began in the afternoon, 

and have until the following noon to complete the action. In 1. 

1447 ff. we have another striding pointed time reference: 

Sortir d'une bataille, et combattre a l'instanti 
Rndri *ue a pri a haleine en vous la racontant. 

mtteiSL 2H je veux qu-il sc dfilasse._ 


!• Mo rceaux ChojUijL , p* 23. 










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103 


This* liice 1* 1107, leave® no doubt as to its ’raison d’etre.’ Cor¬ 
neille himself admitted later that it was unfortunate to have thus 
called attention to the time element, (l) In 1. 1729, Corneille 
has slipped in a little dramatic illusion for the public, trusting 
that the eagle eyes of f los doctes* would not find it j 

Enf in Rodrigue est inert, et sa mart ©’a changes 
D*implacable ennemi en amante affllgee. 

For the moment, the public could substitute for twenty-four hours, 


an indefinite period. The same is true of 1# 1741: 


Knfin elle aims, Sire, et ne oroit plus un crime 
B’avouer par sa bouche un amour legitime. 

The whole matter of the Unity of Time comes to a head in 11# 1605 

ff. (1637 ed.) 

Sire, quelle apparence, k ce triste hymenee 
qu’un m&ae jour commence et finisse mon deuil, 

Matte en mon lit Rodrigue et mon per© au cercueil? 


The icing answers (11. 1613 ff.)5 

3Le temps asses souvent a rendu legitime 

Ce qui eembloit d’abord ne ae pouvoir sans crime: 

Bodri&u© t*a gagn&©» ©t tu dois Stre a lui* 
jS&ais quoique aa valour fait conquisa aujourd’hui, 

II faudroit quo je fusue ennemi de ta gloire. 

Pour lui donner sit6t le prix de sa victoire. 

Cet hymen differ! ne roiapt point uno loi 
□ui sans marquer de temps , lui destine ta foi. 

Prenda un an, si tu veux, pour essuyer too la me a. 

Here Corneille fall© from the pedestal and comes bac* to common 

sense, in time to save his play from a grotesque improbability. 


The last line of the play eoimds^this^aame^noteJ. 

r~~^7~II~ZI~"«"~r*Tra£edie. Marty-Laveaux, I, 96: ”je me auis tou- 
Xm f^u r f^re^ent^d^avorfTait dire au Hoi, dans le Cid, qu’il vou- 
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J!»jures avant qua de comtattre don danohe: je l'avoia lait 
doB iiaures av q j tolt <i ari8 i ea vin u -t-quatre heuros; et 

ca^a "f«rvnu'i avertir lea ap.otat.uw da la contrainte 
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104 


laisae faire 1© temps, ta vaillance et ton rol. 

In summary, we are then forced to say that the play does 
observe the strict Unity of Time, but that it loses by so doing. 
Corneille is fundamentally un-Aristotelian as regards the time ele¬ 
ment. He plans a play which requires weeks or months, and super¬ 
imposes upon this plan an unnatural Unity of Time. The result is 
that the Unity of Time is maintained formally, not naturally. 

The Unity of Place in the Cid affords an interesting study 
also. In a preceding chapter, I have spoken of the multiplex 
scenery of the sixteenth century stage, and Matgke, in his study of 
the Unity of Place in the CiA . (1) says: "The Cid was written for 
and played with the so-called multiplex decoration." This is in 
apparent contradiction with what we find in Jusserand (E): "For the 
Cid all you want is a room with four doors"; and the list of movables 
contains one single article, "an armchair for the king." This direc¬ 
tion is taken from the "Memoire de Mahelot", but we must consider 
this as the decoration for later presentations of the Cid, when the 
multiplex scenery had fallen into disuse and teen supplanted by the 
"palais a volonte", a change which came some time after 1637. 

The Unity of Place in the Cid depends largely upon the Unity of 
Time, Because of the Unity of Time, Hodrigue cannot go to fight the 
Moors, so the Moors must come to him. How they could not come on 
land as quickly as by sea, so the scene of the play is put at Seville 
which could be reached by water. In the name of the Unities, Corn¬ 
eille is forced to misrepresent facts. 

1. M.L.N.. 1898, pp. 393-409. This study supercedes that of P. H. 

V/arren in M.L.N. . 1896, pp. 1-10. 

E. Shakespeare in France . New York, 1899, p. 73. 







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106 


Four different localities within the city are necessary for 
the Cl& s The apartments of the king, those of the Infanta, those 
of Chimene, and a street or public square. With the multiplex 
scenery this works very well. The following diagram shows the 
probable arrangement of the stage: (1) 


L® Palais du Hoi 



The Unity of Place has been maintained, according to the multiplex 
arrangement (2) and leaves nothing for comment, except in the last 
four scenes of Act. I, and a few minor inconsistencies. We may be 
sure that Soudery clutched at these opportunities for criticism, 
with particular emphasis on the first. Matzke has pointed out (3) 
that "while the unity of place has been kept intact and was evident¬ 
ly the open square throughout the act, the arrangement of the last 
four soenes is nevertheless open to criticism. Pon Plegue and the 
Count appeared from the palace of the king (4), thereby leading the 
audience to suppose that the locality had changed, and nothing in 
their dialogue could correct the impression* This may, therefore, be 
one of the faults criticized by Soudery". 

Scudery*s objection reeds: "Le theatre en eet si mal entendu, 
qu*un meme lieu representant 1'apparteraent du Roi, celui de l # Inf*nte, 
la maison de Chimene et la rue, presque sans changer de face ( as was 







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106 


Inevitable with the system of amltipley scenery) le spectateur ne 
salt le pine souvent on en sent lee acteurs." (1) Professor Lan¬ 
caster thinks that Scud^ry's criticism was directed against some¬ 
thing more general than this, for the audiences were certainly accus¬ 
tomed to such slight 'invraisemblanees' as Matzke describes. It 
should be remembered also that in 1637 the conception of Unity of 
Place was merely that of one town. The dramatist was quite at liVerty 
to use a b many localities within the town as suited his subject. This 
argument rather strengthens Lancaster’s position. The confusion, to 
which Scud^ry refers, may have resulted from a simplified system of 
multiplex scenery which was being used in 1637, during the period of 
transition from the multiplex scenery to the 'palais a vclonte*. What¬ 
ever the basis of Scudery'e remark, it was unjust in that it might as 
well have teen said of all the plays at the time. Chapelain admits 
this injustice in the Sentimens . The strict interpretation of Unity of 
Place was as yet only an idea in Chapelain's mind. Lancaster (2) says, 
"What Uannheisser calls 'Zlmmereinheit', subsequently established on 
the classic French stage, was as yet unknown." The Cid may, for this 
reason, be said to have Unity of Place, since the action takes place 
in but one city* and it wee possible to present simultaneously on the 
stage, several localities in the city. 

We have now completed the s tudy of the Unities, and we must, 
in all fairness, say that Corneille made every effort to comply with 
the contemporary interpretation of them. Where he did not succeed, it 

1. Gaste, op. clt ., p. 95. 

2. P.M.L.A. . 1^8, p. 314. 





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107 


was due to the irregularity of hie Spanish model, and to the essent¬ 
ially rcmanesque nature of the subject, with its underlying element 
of fancy, which did not lend itself to any restraining Unities. 

Vlffi I SIMILITUDE 

To complete our study of the Cld « we should analyse briefly 
Corneille's application of Verisimilitude to this borrowed subject. 
Since it was an historical subject, Corneille could not change the 
principal event. Realizing, on the other hand, that it was not 
'vraisemblable' for a young noblewoman to marry her father's murder¬ 
er, even though a reasonable time elapse between the two incidents, 
Corneille quotes in the Avertiesement du Cld the Spanish romance, thus 
Justifying himself in fact. He also attenuated the circumstances some¬ 
what by giving only the suggestion of the marriage and not having Rod¬ 
rigue and Chimine actually marry at the close of the play. This, how¬ 
ever, is not an effective answer to Scud^ry's objection that the sub¬ 
ject of the play "ne peut estre vraisemi 1able; et par consequent 11 
choque une des princlpales regies du Po^me." In this instance again, 
we find Corneille led astray by the Italians, for Scaliger had main¬ 
tained that if an action had the sanction of actual though unique 
occurrence, then it must have the sanction of verisimilitude. Corn¬ 
eille here follows Scaliger even more than Castelvetro, who hod all 
but discarded historic actions from poetry, on the ground that the 
poet is a poet only by his invention of plot.(i) As we have seen in 
our earlier section on Plot, Corneille's natural tendency was to the 
1. Cf. his 'ingegno a trovare'. Cf. supra . Ch. II, p.3^* 






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108 


romanesque ’lnTraiBemtlance*, and the only authority left him was 
that of historical occurrence. It was this romanesque quality which 
made the Cid unpsychological, •invraisemblable*, and therefore un- 
Aristotelian. 

in studying the Unities, we saw that it was in the name of a 
false ’vraisemblance' that Seville is made the capital of Castilla. 

The *soufflet* also, was a matter of some thought to Corneille. To 
his mind it seemed •invra*semblsble* that a buffet should he admin¬ 
istered to a favorite in the presence of the Icing. Hi gal makes 
Corneille say (1), "Peut-etre se permattait-on au Xlle circle, de 
souffleter 1© favori d'un souverain devent le souverain meme; male 
les speotateurs sont dee homines d’au^ourd 1 hui et ils trouveroient qu~ 
*un pareil act© manque singulierement de respect a la majesty royale." 
In the Cid, accordingly, the Count and Don Diegue have come out alone 
from the council before the fatal blow is struck. In one other de¬ 
tail also, Corneille modifies the Spanish play, to agree with the 
‘hienseances* of the French stage: In the Spanish model there was no 
difficulty about the burial of the Count, but in the extreme concen¬ 
tration of the French tragedy to have diverted the attention at that 
point from Chimene and Kodrigue, would have been to lose the dramatic 
effect and the unity of the whole. As usual, Scudery comments on this 
seeming neglect, and terms it an n extravagance" that Chimene should 
consent to the marriage with Rodrigue, when her murdered father still 
1, De Jodelle a Mollere . p. 217. 





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109 


lies without burial in the house# (1) In these instances, however, 
Corneille was strong enough to hold out against the facts of history 
and follow his dramatic instinct, but in far more important situations 
we have found him giving in* Much of the appeal of the Spanish play 
was lost in the French Cld , through this unfortunate, yet almost 
unavoidable, attempt to treat the subject along the lines of Aris- 
totelaln doctrine# I say 'unavoidable*, since the criticsr were con¬ 
tinually on the alert, and at the poet's heels, end I say 'unfortun¬ 
ate', since a romanesque subject, although fundamentally 'invraisem- 
blable', can maJce a most fascinating play, as the Cld did. The 
modern reader feels as did Boileau and his contemporaries: 

Tout Paris pour Cfcim^ne a les yeux de Hodrigue. (2) 

COSCIP3IOB 

In the course of this etudy we have found that the Cld is un- 
Aristotelain in every point except the Unities. The plot was 
'invraisemblable*, because the characters were in themselves un- 
ptychological and 'invraiaeablsbles'. Having peeitad these facts, 
we come to the inevitable conclusion that the Aristotelian Catharsis 
was not produced. For since our characters were not such as to 
arouse pity and fear, the play could not be Arietotelian in its out¬ 
come. Verisimilitude, which we have shown to underlie all the other 
rules of the Poetic Art, was entirely lacking in the Cid. But the 
Unities we found to be strictly observed, even though at a heavy 
cost. Yet one must realize that all the other demands of Tragedy must 

1. Cf. Marty-Lavesux, III, 101, note 1. 

£. Satires . IX, 1. 60. 






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110 


be Inherent in its subject, and the Unities alone are an external 
feature. They are simply the cadre . & "biens&mce du theatre”J 
but not essential to the nature of Tragedy. It is for this reason 
that Corneille oould impose the Unities, although imperfectly, on 
the play, since they are something to be imposed from without, 
whereas all of the other Qualities are necessarily Inherent in a 
subject, or remain totally absent from it, as here. 

THE QUABREL OF THE CIS 

It.will not be necessary to trace here, even in outline form, 
the various phases of the attache and counter-attacks, which made 
up the Quarrel of the Cid. This is probably the most famou? 
literary quarrel in the history of French letters, and many volumes 
and chapters in larger works have been devoted to it. (1) me need 
only concern ourselves here with those criticisms which bear upon 
one of our topics, and the answers, direct or otherwise, made by 
Corneille to them. The documents which we shall need to consider 
are the Observations sur le Cid of Scudery; the Sentlmens de 
l ^dademie sur le Cid, written for the meet part by Chapelain; and the 
Epltre of La Sulvante . which was written during the heat of the 
quarrel* 

The Observations were a venomous attack, consisting of some 

ninety-six pages.(2) Scudery puts forth six objections to the play 

1. The history of the Quarrel is given with all the accompanying 
documents in Gaet6, Armand: La Querelle du Cid . Paris, 1898. Cf. 
also Marty-Laveaux III, pp. T5 IT* 

8. 40 pages In Caste', op . clt ., pp. 71-111. 











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which we shall list in order: w l) Que le sujet n'en vaut rien du 
tout; 2) Qu'il choque les principales regies du poeme dramatique; 

3) Qu'il manque de Jugement en sa conduit©; 4) Qu'il a beaueoup 
de m^ohants vers; 5) Sue presque Aout ce qu'il a Ae beautes sont 
derobees; et 6) Qtx'ainsi l'estime qu'on snffait eat injuste." 
Scudery ’b program was ambitious! But our comments on the Observa ¬ 
tions may be very brief, for all but the first two of Scudery*s 
accusations bear on details of 'bienseanoe' t style, and versifi¬ 
cation, which echo fittingly his petty Jealousy, and are no part 
of our present study. As for the first objection, that the sub¬ 
ject was worthless, we have spoken of it before, in disouesing the 
Cid and have said that it was thoroughly Justifiable from the Aris¬ 
totelian point of view. The subject had a happy ending which 
immediately condemned it for the perfect tragedy. Eut Scudery up¬ 
holds his objection very weakly, and adduces only the fact that the 
reversal of fortune oom*s too early in the play. The true reason 
for disoarding this subject from Tragedy, we have seen, was its 
lack of Verisimilitude. Instead of giving this first, Scudery con¬ 
siders this objection under the second heading^Qu'il choque les 
principales regies du poeme dramatique " Scudery includes undsr 
this objection, also, his discussion of the happy ending, the 
episodic nature of the Infanta's role, the over-crowding of the 
incidents, and the lack of Unity of Place. The third objection 
bears especially upon the horrifying marriage, or projected mar¬ 
riage, of Chimene and Rodrigue. This whole section is devoted to 




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118 


't'be. seventeenth century *blenseances 1 which do not concern our 
problem. Similarly, the fourth and fifth Headings bear no 
relationship to the Aristotelian theory of drama. And the conclu¬ 
sion that the play did not merit the success it had, is the judg¬ 
ment of the envious rival, for the more impartial critic. Chape- 
lain, could not deny that the play had "dee graces qui no Bont pas 
communes." (1) 

The Quarrel continued through the greater part of the year, 
and in September, Corneille took occasion to write his Epitre d^ - 
dicatoire ^ La Suivante . which is the only place in which we can 
find definitely stated at this time any theories of Corneille him¬ 
self. This was a more or less direct answer to the many attacks 
which had been flooding in on the author of the Cid . This apltre Ae - 
Aicatoire is headed "A Monsieur***" and cannot be identified as 
being addressed to anyone in particular. It was merely a •cadre* 
for the expression of Corneille’s theories. 

The tone of the whole Lpttre is well indicated in the follow¬ 
ing passage from the beginning: n Je traite tonjours mon sujet le 

moins mal qu'il m’est possible.Si je ne fais bien, qu'un 

autre fasse naieux; je feral des vers k sa louange, au lieu do le 
oensurer” and he observes that "nous pardonncns beauooup de choses 
aux anclens; nous admirons quelquefois dans leurs eorlts ce que nous 
ne souffririons pas dans les nitres.....Le docte Soaliger a remarque 
des taches dans tous les Latins, et de moins savants que lui en 
1. SeatlaenB . in Casts, A. : La Querelle du CIA , p. 416. 



















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113 


remarqueroient blen dans les Greca, et dans son Virgil© 

meme.Je vous lalss© «one a penser si notre pr^somption 

ne seroit pas ridloule, d© pr^ten^re qu'une exact© censure 
n© put mordre sur nos ouvrages.•.*.Je n© me suis jamais 
imagine avoir mis rien au jour de parfait, J© n’esp^re pas 
mGme y pouvoir jamais arriver; j© fals neanmoins mon possible 
pour ©n approcher, et les plus beaux succ&s dee autres ne 
produlsent en mol qu'une vertueuse emulation, qui me fait re¬ 
dout ler mes efforts afin d'en avoir de parails.” 

Somewhat later in the same apltre he c^raes again to gen¬ 
eral statem* nts of principle and we have the famous declara¬ 
tion: "J'aime & suivre les regies; mais loin de me rendre 
leur esclave, je 1©8 elargls et resserre selon le besoin qu'en 
a mon sujet, et je romps meme sans scrupule oelle qui regarde 
la dur^e de 1*action, quand sa sever!te me semtle absolument 
Incompatible avec les leaut^s dee ^Tenements que je decria. 
Savoir les regies, et entendre le secret de les apprivoiser 
adroitem< nt avec notre th^fitre, ce sont deux sciences lien 
differentes; et peut-etre que pour fair© maintenant reuasir 
une piece, ce n’est pas assez d’avoir etudie dans les livres 

d'Aristote et d'Horace.notre premier but doit etre de 

plalre & la cour et au peuple. II faut, s'il se peut, y 

ajouter les regies, afin de n© deplair© pas aux savants, et 
recevoir un applaudissement universel; male surtout gagnons 
la voix pullique; autrement, notre piece aura beau etre 
reguliere, si ell© est sirflee au theatre, les savants 
n'oseront s© declarer en notre faveur, et aimeront mieux 






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dire que nous aurons mal entendu lee regies, que de nous 
donner des louanges quand nous serone decries par le oon- 
sentement general de ceux qui ne voient la cornedie qua pour 
se divertir." These passages which we have Just quoted make 
up nearly the whole ^ pltre . so that it is immediately clear 
that Corneille’s purpose was to present his own theories, 
without regard to La Sulvante in itself. It is very apparent 
that Corneille was not as yet submissive to the general criti¬ 
cisms which had been passed on his CJLd, and it was only the 
appearance of the Sentlmens de 1' Academia sur le Cid that 
really crushed Corneille, temporarily at least. 

The Sentlmens were drawn up for the most part by Chape- 
lain, the spokesman of the newly-founded Academy. Richelieu 
rejected the first forms of the Sentimens . and it was only 
the third redaction that was made public. In it, Chapelain 
"avait tache d’equilitrer de son mieux le mal que le cardinal 
l’otligealt a dire de la pifeoe, et le bien qu’ll en penBait 
lui-meme".(l) This work gave detailed answers to each of the 
Observations made by Scudery, and in the main, Chapelain 
agrees with the ’olservateur*, but h© always gives a more 
moderate e^presslon to his criticisms. 

It is interesting to note that Chapelain reproaches 

ox topics 

Scud^ry for not having followed Aristotle’s order*in his Ob¬ 
servations . Chapelain represented pure criticism, but Scudery’s 
remarks were too envious to permit of a well-ordered presen¬ 
tation. Chapelain agrees with Scud4ry in his point of view, 

1. lanson. HistoIre , p* 4£4. 













116 


that it is not so much a question of whether the Cid did 
give pleasure, but whether it should, as a matter of fact, 
have given pleasure. Therefore Chapelain agrees readily on 
the moral side, that the Cid did not portray the reward of 
virtue and punishment of crime, but he would permit the fan¬ 
tastic changes in the historical plot by which Corneille might 
have avoided the ’denouement 1 . In this, Chapelain is distinct¬ 
ly un-Aristotelian, as also in seeking a didactic function for 
Trage y. In the other points, Chapelain accepts generally 
Scud^ry's objections, though making some slight modifications. 
Yet Chapelain closes the Sentimens rather favorably to Cor¬ 
neille: "...cet agrement inexplicable qui se mesle dans tous 
sea defaux luy ont acquis un rang considerable entre les 
Pogmes Franqois de oe genre qui ont le plus donne de satis¬ 
faction". Here Chapelain admits the existence of some intan¬ 
gible elements which made of the Cid an immortal masterpiece. 

After the appearanoe of the Sentlmeno . the Quarrel was 
officially closed, and Scud^ry cleverly feigned, in an ob¬ 
sequious letter of thanks to the Academy, to have triumphed 
over Corneille. The Quarrel had lasted nearly a year, for 
the Sentlmens did not appear until November. Corneille was 
crushed by the official verdict, and the consequences were 
great and ofttimes grievous. If the Norman lawyer showed a 
disdainful front in the ^pttre to La Sulvante, he was in 
reality "le plus timide et le plus docile des hommee".(1) 

We shall see in the following chapter on Horace that Corneille 


familiarized himself with the works of the critics, during 
lT~Petit de Julleville, Morceaux Cholsls , p. 66. 













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116 


the three years which Intervened letween the appearance of 
the Cid and that of Horace . How much progress he made at this 
time in theoretical knowledge, cannot le determined definite¬ 
ly, since his own theoretic writings did not appear until 
1660. All we can hope to do, is to trace in the plays of the 
next period, reminiscences of these months of study. 



inJr ,* ,>oiT*q fx»« 




117 


CHAPTER VI - HORACE 


Shortly after the first successes of the Cld , Corneille 
set to work on his next tragedy, Horace ,(1) Although begun in 
1637, the new play did not appear until the beginning of 
1640.(2) The ’Querelle du Cld '. as we have just seen, was 
officially ended in the autumn of 1637, but it left Corneille 
discouraged and disheartened, and he spent much of his time 
now in learning those ominous rules which had just threatened 
hiB ruin. The results of this period of study will be seen in 
the discussion of Horace . It is not known for a certainty in 
which theater Horace was first presented, tut all indications 
point to the Hotel de Bourgogne as the probable scene of the 


first performance.(3) 

As regards sources, it is not very apparent that Cor¬ 
neille was indebted to any of the three dramatists who had pre¬ 
ceded him in the handling of this subject (4), unless it be to 
Lope de Vega. But the Honrado Hermano partakes much more of 
the tragi-comedy, and the whole conduot of the play is so far 
from the French tragedy, that it seems justifiable to consider 
that the two p ays wert wholly independent. Corneille himself 
indicated as his source Bk. I of Livy*s History of. to 

1. Cf. Merty-Laveaux, III, pp. 248 ff. .. * 

2. The approximate date is the end of February, or the first 
week in March. Cf. Marty-Laveaux, III, p. 249. 

3. Cf. Marty- haveaux, III, P• 261. , 

4. c7. Marty-Laveaux, III, pp. 245 ff. £1* ^ d ? le Vl 8 

Tohns Hopkins dissertation (to be published) which shows 
that Dionysius may have been a more important source for 
Corneille. 













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118 


which may be added Plutarch's Life of Tullue . 

Much more subservient now to the rules and their arbi¬ 
ters, than at the time when he wrote the Cid . Corneille him¬ 
self read the play before a group of critics, inc uding Chape- 
lain, Boisrobert and d'Aulignac.^ This reading took place be¬ 
fore the first performance of the play, but it is very sig¬ 
nificant that Corneille did not act on the suggestions made 
by Chapelain and d'Aubignac. We shall consider these sugges¬ 
tions in their respective places under the topical treatments. 

PLOT This time, Corneille chose his subject from Homan his¬ 
tory, in which he was following one of Aristotle's precepts: 
to choose an illustrious deed from an illustrious family. 

The sul Ject seems then capable of Aristotelian treatment. 
Turning immediately to an analysis of the plot, it is apparent 
that the war between Home and Alba, the duel of six brothers, 
and the final murder, form the external aotlon. Put, as in 

the Cid, most of these aoti ns are only narrated, including 

the first battle-array, the choosing of the combattants, and 

the duel. Horace is an inner drama of the same type as the 

Cid. The subject is not political, it is psychological, uni¬ 
versal. The real subject is the conflict of ideals between 
Horace, symbol of Patriotism, and Camille, symbol of Love; 
but loth, symbols of an equal Will. We have already discussed 
such psychological action, and we came to the decision that 
it might be admitted by Aristotle, through e>tensions of the 
original Greek text. But psychological action is determined 
by character, and therefore is essentially un-Aristotelian,^ 
Cf. Uarty-Laveaux, III. PP* 264 ff. 





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119 


since action no longer predominates over character. The 
latter is a constant factor in the Cornelian tragedies, for 
Corneille was intent upon portraying the Hura^n fill in con¬ 
flict; the Will is an element of Character, and results in, 
but is not resultant upon. Action. 

In the construction of the plot, Horace is built on the 
complex plan, with reversal of fortune. As in the Cid again, 
the fortune is reversed several times before the final re¬ 
versal. Let us trace the rise and fall of fortune through¬ 
out the play. In lines 173 ff. t misfortune is at hand: 

Ce jour nous fut proploe et funeste a la foie: 
Unissant nos malsons, il desunit nos roie. 

Un m&me instant conelut notre hymen et la guerre, 

Fit naltre notre eBpoir et le jets par terre, 

Sous ota tout, sitot qu*il nous eut tout promis, 

Et nous faisant aments, il nous fit ennemis. 

But good fortune is promised by the words of the oracle, lines 

196 ff.s 

Albe et Home domain prendront une autre face; 

Tee voeux sont exauoes, ©lies auront la paix, 

Et tu serae unie avec ton Curiace, 

Sana qu’aucun mauvais sort t*en eepare jamais. 

le know how this prophecy was fulfilled: Rome and Alba were 
indeed left in peace after the combat, and Camille and Curiace 
were joined in death. In the original form of the play, the 
fifth act ended with one more scene in which Julie, the ’con¬ 
fidante*, recalled the words of the oracle, the meaning of 
which is now clear. But at the time of their first utterance, 
they were misinterpreted to mean a true good fortune, which 
is immediately reversed again (11. 226 ff.): 

&ais je me trouve enfin, malgre tons mes souhaits, 

Au jour d’une bataille, et non pas d’une paix. 



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120 


Exit the fortune rises again in 1* 273: 

C'est la palx Qui cheE vous me conne un litre acc^e. 
This is at the point where the champions are to be chosen for 
loth sides. This moment's relief is undone by the announce¬ 
ment of the choice of the brothers on both sides. Here the 
plot is designedly Aristotelian, for the situation as the 
three Irothers go to fight against the three brothers-in-law, 
calls forth pity and terror (11. 783 ff.): 

A voir de tele amis, dee personnes si proches, 

Venir pour leur patrie aux mortelles approches, 

L*un s'emeut de pitl^ , I'autre est saisi d' horreur , 

L*autre d'un si grand zele ad :dre la fureur; 

Tel porte jusqu'aux cieux leur vertu sane egale . 

We shall have occasion to come lack to these lines in connec¬ 
tion with E^tharsls, but let us continue now to trace the 
development of the Plot. Line 792 marks good fortune again: 

On s'^crie, on s'avance, enfin on lee sepnrcu 
But the fortune falls again after the sacrifice to the gods, 
and the combat takes place. Line 995 introduces the lowest 
ebb of fortune, with the false report of Julie: 

Rome est subtle d'AlU, et vos fils sont d^faits; 

Les trois les deux sont morts, son epoux seul vous 
rest®. 

This is followed ly the threat of the elder Horace, to kill 
the eon who fled. Continued misfortune and the final out¬ 
come are foreshadowed in 11. 1062 ff. 

Dieuxl verrons-nous toujours des malheurs de la sorte? 
Hous faudra-t-il toujours en oralndre de plus grands, 
j£t toujoure redouter la main de nos parents? 

In this clOBely-knit development, and in the accumulation of 

misfortune, the Plot is thoroughly Aristotelian. After the 











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121 


misunderstanding; as to the outcome of the tattle, the for¬ 


tune rises to its highest point, and the victorious Horace 
is acclaimed the hero of the day (1. 1141 ff.}: 


0 mon file I b m Joie! 6 l'honneur de nos Jours! 

0 d'un Rtat penchant l'inespdre secoursl 
Yertu digne de Rome, et sang digne d'Horace! 

Appui de ton pays, et gloire de ta race! 

Some critics, including Voltaire, hold that this should 

be the ’denouement 1 of the play (1)* since the w ; interpret 


the subject as the victory of Rome or Alta, making of it a 
political subject. But Corneille did not so intend it, for 
as has been pointed out, "he was emphasising rather the 
spiritual struggle between the characters than the purely 
political conflict between two cities w .(2) He thereby made 
"the human or universal element most prominent", and this 


renders the subject more Aristotelian. To have stopped the 


play with the political victory, would have made no tragedy, 
since the e ding is happy, whereas Aristotle required an un¬ 
happy ending, as Corneille had well learned in the Cid . Cor¬ 
neille's conception of his plot is then Aristotelian thus far. 
In 1. 1203, Camille sums up the plot and brings out the sever¬ 
al minor reversals of fortune before the final blow# 


vit-on Jamais un (3) dont les rudes traverses 
Prissent en moins de rien tant de faces diverses, 


1 . 


2 . 


3. 


r:~ur Corneille, in Poland edition of CEuvrea, 
^1. mi. pi gtiTT- iol la pT feoe est flnie, l’actlon Sml 
eomplfetement terain^e. II s'agissalt de la viotolre, et 
elle est remportee du destin de Rome, et il cat decide# 

And as he begins the remarks on Act IV, so. 3, he says, 
"Void done une autre pUoe^qul oommence; le sujet en est 
bien moins grand, moins interessant, moins theatral, que 
celui de la premier*.. Ces deu> actions differ* ates out nui 
au auceks coraplet de* Ho races » , 

filter , W. A. and Gal pin. 3* L. ed. of Corneille's eeleoted 
plays, Hew York, 1907, p. 348. 

Un Jour. 








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Qul fut doux tant de fois, •! tant de fois cruel, 

port&t tant de coups avant le coup mortal? 

She then gives a summary of the whole action, to this point, 
and in 1. 1293, addressed to her broti er, Horace, foreshadows 
the final catastrophe: 

1t toi, bientot eouiller par quelqu^ lachete 
Cette gloire si ch&re a ta brutal ite. 

This is followed in 11. 1319, 1320 by the killing of Camille: 

Cost trop, ma patience a la raison fait place; 

Va dedans lee enfere plaindre ton Curiace. 

and Horace reappears on the stage with the lineF; 

Ain&i resolve un chatiment s udain 
Quioonque ose pleurer un ennemi romainl 

Beginning at this point, the Aristotelianism breaks 

down. The killing of Camille is the fatal error of the oharac 

ter of Horace, cut Corneille paint9 it as a strength. Had 

Horace rep nted and killed himself with the same sword which 

had killed hie sister, the play would have teen completely 

Aristotelian. ?ut instead, Horace justifies his deed, is 

pardoned by his father and his king, and the play ends with a 

triumphant cry for Horace (1. 1769): 

Vis done, Horace, vis, guerrier trop msgnanime: 

Ta vertu met ta gloire au-dessus de ton crime; 

Aristotelian, then, in subject and in treatment up to the 
▼t ry end, the play Ireake down In Its 'denouement'. To 
find the reason for this, we must go lack to the Tory loginn¬ 
ing of our study. We saw that the setJeot was chosen from 
history. Herein lay the fallacy, for Aristotle, although 
admitting historical subjects, did not permit the post to 
alter the framework of a well-known story. Consequently, not 







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123 

every real event is capable of tragic treatment in the 
Aristotelian manner* The subject of Horace is un-Aristo- 
telian, for it is a possible improbability, and Aristotle, 
as we have seen, states that protatle impossibilities are to 
be preferred to possible improbabilities, since the former are 
more readily credible* We have said that Verisimilitude is 
.the basis of Aristotle’s doctrine, and this is in contradis¬ 
tinction to the truth of history, a basic principle which 
Corneille never grasped* His idea was, "e’est l’Histoire Qui 
persuade avec empire”, and with the truth of history on his 
side, Corneille sought no further Justification. In the 
Preface to Heraclius . we shall find that he even goes so far 
as to say that the plot of a tragedy ”4oit n'etre pas vrai- 
semblalle”, that it should go du vraiaemblalle"• 

In Horace , lines 431 ff. give cl earl; Corneille’s conception 
of plot: 

Le sort qui de l'honneur nous ouvre la ba^riere 
Offre & notre constancy une jjlustre matiere ; 

II 4puise sa force h former un maiheur 
Pour*mieux se meaurer avec notre valeur; 

Lt comme il voit en nous dee ames peu communes 
Hors de 1’ orAre commun il n-us fait des fortunes. 

CHAHACTi^H Here we have the analysis of the plot and the 
character of our hero. Corneille seeks always, in history, 
an illustrious example, of an unoommon situation, calling 
forth uncommon, superhuman qualities of character. Horace 
goes to the performance of his duty without reluctance; he 
sees only the et rnal glory of the situation. Curiace, on 
the other hand, represents the Aristotelian character, essen¬ 
tially good, but not superton. He cannot be deterred from 











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124 


hie duty, tut h© confesses the anguish of the moment. (1*462): 

Je n'ai point consulte pour euivre mon devoir; 

Ilotre longue ami tie, 1'amour, ni 1'alliance, 

S'ont pu mettre un moment mon esprit en balance, 

and 11. 467 ff: 

Je crois faire pour ©lie autnnt que vous pour Home; 
J'ai le coeur aussi bon, mais enfin j[© suis homme 


Et si Home demands une vertu plus haute, 

Je rends graces aux Dieux de n'etre pas Bomain, 

Pour conserver encor quelque chose d'humain. 

But it must be remembered that Curiace is not Corneille’s hero. 
Horace remain© throughout the play, the triumphant hero. 

If we follow the character of Horace through the play, we 
find constant references to his vertu which Camille and Curiace 
term "barbare" and "une apre vertu". He never flinches for a 
moment, and after the hilling of Camille, unrelenting, unmoved, 
he comes forth in th© name of Reason to justify hie deed. It is 
at this point that le vieil Horace, expresses his attitude to¬ 
wards the murder of Camille. (1) He recognize© in it, the ’excess 
of virtue* which made Horace guilty: 

II (2) mele a nos vertus des marques de folllesae , 
Et rereraent acccrde k notre ambition 
L'entier et pur honneur d’une bonne action. 

The 'marque de foitlesee’ in Horace, was the error into which he 

fell, as a result of hie greatest virtue: his love of Home. It 

was in other words, the weakness of his strength. Th© elder 

Horace refers several time© to this quality which he calls a 

1. Act V, sc• 1* y 

2. Le jugement celeste. 








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126 


"vertu trop sev^re'Ml), and In 11. 1666, 1666 he says of Horace: 

Le seul amour de Rome a ea main animee: 

II seroit innocent s’il l'avoit moine aimee. 

This is pure Aristotelianism, and there can he no doubt that it 
was conscious on the part of Corneille. The misfortune is that 
we cannot determine whether such passages were inserted at the 
suggestion of Chapelain and his group, either before or after 
the first performance, or whether they were in the original form 
of the play as conceived by Corneille. What is certain, is that 
they are conscious reminiscences of the quarrel of the Cid . and 
are part of the serious effort which Corneille made to improve 
on the Cid. There we saw that Rodrigue had no tragio flaw, which 
immediately arred him from the rank of Aristotelian characters. 
Horace, on the contrary, has all the requirements of a perfect 
tragic hero, except in the ’denouement’ where he triumphs, in¬ 
stead of meeting an unhappy end. 

Let us choose enough lines from the role of Horace to 
show his character. In his first speech, 1. 378, he says: 

La gloire de ce ohoix m’enfle d’un juste organ ; 
ilon esprit en concoit une male assurance: 

and a little farther, 1. 486: 

La solid© vertu dont je fais vanlte / 

K’admet point de foiblcsse avec sa ferinete. 

In his last speech, he says (1. 1679): 

Si bien que pour laisser une 11lustre nemo ire , 

La mort seule aujourd’hui pent conserver ma gloire, 


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126 


The extreme contrast between Horace and Curiace is nowhere better 

shown than in their dialogue after they know that they have been 

chosen as champions. Horace is speaking, 1. 499: 

Avec une allegreese aussi pleine et sincere^ 

Que j'epousai la soeur, Je combattrai le frere; 

_,t pour trancher enfin ces discours superflus, 

Alt© vous a nomme, Je ne vous connais plus* 

to which Curiace replies: 

Je vous connois encore, et c’est ce qui me tue; 

IlaiB cette apre vertn ne m'etoit pas connue; 

Comme notre malheur elle est au plus haut point: 
Souffrez que je 1 * admire et ne l'imite point. 

Curiace is the raisonneur of the play, the foil to Horace. He 
represents the thought of the audience, which is the foil to 
Corneille. In the last of these lines Corneille has given the 
keynote of the play: admiration of character, to which we shall 
return in speaking of Catharsis. Our next question is as to Cam¬ 
ille and Sabine. Which is the heroine? In the first three acts. 
Sabine is far more prominent than Camille; but from the beginning 
of Act IV, Camille comes forward and Sabine is lost sight of until 
her very weak appearance in the last scene. The prophecy of the 
oracle given to Camille early in the play finds its true msaning 
in the very last lines: 

Puisqu'en un m3me jour l'ardeur d'un meme zele 
Ach&ve le destin de son amant et d’elle, 

Je veux qu'un raeme Jour, ternoin de leurs deux morts, 
an un memo tomfceau vole enfermer leurs corps. 

Since the play ends with Camille in the foreground, we are 
Justified in considering her the heroine. Is she an Aristotelian 
character? She is ’true to type' for she remains throughout the 




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127 


play a woman, and at no time assumes a valorous attitude. She 
is consistent throughout in her love for Curiace. When that 
love is sacrificed, she sacrifices life also. fiowhere, like 
Chimane, does she pretend, in her own mind, nor in the public 
eye, to prefer her family duty to her love for Curiace. Cf. 1. 
1195 ff.: 

Oui, je lui ferai voir, par d 1 infaillibles marques, 
Qu’un veritable amour brave la main des Parques. 

and 1. 1249 ff.: 

...Preparons-nous a montrer conetamment 
Ce que doit une amante a la mort d'un amant. 

Camille is throughly Aristotelian, during the entire play, and 

she comes to a tragic end. As we hinted in the chapter on the 

Cid, Camille is the only Aristotelian heroine in Corneille’s 

tragedies. 

iCATKARSIS 

With this brief study of the characters, let us pass on 

to the question of katharsis. Since we have determined that 

Horace is not Aristotelian, we know then, ipso facto, that he will 

not call forth pity and fear. And having seen that Camille is 

Aristotelian, we shall expect her to arouse our pity and fear. 

Such is indeed the case. Horace never once allows anyone to feel 

pity or fear for him; it is an insult to his ’vertu'. (1. 398 ff.) 

Quoi! vous me pleureriez mourant pour mon pays! 

Pour un eoeur gen^reux ce trepas a des charmes; 

La gloire qui le suit ne souffre point de larmes. 

And 1. 1360: 

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128 


What then is the emotion we feel for Horace? It is Admiration 

for his invincible Patriotism* Up to the end we might have felt 

both pity and terror, but not when Horace stands ever triumphant* 

iiarly in the play (1) the situation is presented as both pitiful 

and horrible, in the lines already quoted: 

A voir de tele amis, des personnes si proches, 
Venir poUr leur patrie aux mortelles approches, 

I^un a'emeut de pi tie . 1'autre est saisi d'horreur, 
L'autre d'un si grand zele admire la fureur; 

Tel porte Jusqu*au> eieux leur vertu sans e^gale . 

But here already Corneille strikes the keynote of Admiration, 
which is the purpose he set himself in the play. Although there 
is a strong tinge of the ethical in making of Admiration the 
central theme of the tragedy, Corneille's primary interest was 
aesthetic: he sought to give pleasure by portraying an admirable 
character* The katharsis cannot be fully Aristotelian, granted 
such a hero. Horace, we have seen, was an Aristotelian chara¬ 
cter until the final 'denouement' when he comes to a triumphant 
end, the audience ceases to feel fear or pity for him, and on the 
other hand, he thus loses all Aristotelian qualities. Camille 
does arouse our pity, and we fear for her happiness. The word 
plalndre is often used in speaking of her situation, and at the 
end the king says, (1* 1777): 

Je la plains . 

Thus we may say that the play is more than half tragic, since the 
development of the plot is Aristotelian and the heroine is Aris- 
1* 11. 783 ff. 


















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129 


totelian. It is only in the final ’denouement 1 that Camille 
failed to meet the critics' approval. Horace r©presents a 
distinct advance in Corneille's understanding of the Aris¬ 
totelian requirements. But since Corneille's purpose was to 
present Horace as an invincible hero, and to arouse our admira¬ 
tion, we must confess that Corneille could not produce the Aris¬ 
totelian Katharsis. He, however, complied with a pseudo-Aris¬ 
totelian doctrine, by evoking Minturno's theory of Admiration, 
which fitted so perfectly Corneille's romanesque plot. 

UflITISS 

The treatment of the Unities in Horace is far less com¬ 
plicated than in the Cid. The subject was less romanesque, and 
less burdened with epic coloring and incident. The Unities of 
Time and Place offer the least difficulty, and we shall dispose 
of them firBt. Horace is a thoroughly psychological drama, and 
hence needs no great amount of time, as would one dependent 
upon exterior events. What exteimal action there is, is not 
presented to the spectators; nevertheless, time must be left for 
itg enactment. Throughout, Corneille bears in mind that the action 
must be terminated in twenty-four hours. We are constantly remind¬ 
ed that it is the events of but one single day which are taking 
place before our eyes. As early as 11. 2529, 3250, we find definite 
mention of time; 

Pans deux heures au plus, par un oommun accord, 

Le sort de nos guerriers rdglera notre sort. 

So in 1. 672: 

£t me lalsse achever cette grande journee. 












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130 


que nous n'emploierons la fin de la journee 
Qu'aux doux preparatifs d'un heureuxHIymen£; , 

and strikingly in 1. 1049: 

Qu’ avant ce jour finl . 

1* 1161 suggests something ieyond, lut our tragedy is ended be¬ 
fore we get there: 

£t remet domain la pompe qu’il prepare. 

Lines 1203 ff. seem almost to have teen meant to impress on our 
minds that so .many and so great events are all included in one 

day: 

En vit-on jamais un{l) dont lea rudes traverses 
Priesent en moins de rien, tant de faces diverses, 
Vit-on jamais une am© en un jour plus atteinte 
De joie de douleur, d’esp^rance et de crainte? 

But these lines are not actually forced. The day indeed has seen 

many changes of fortune, but it so happens that Horace offered 

Corneille the one case in a thousand, where many reversals did 

actually take place in one day. There is no such straining as in 

the Cid , where the original had more than a year’s time, whdch 

Corneille compressed to twenty-four hours. The closing lines of 

Horacd strike again the key-note of time.(2) Unity of Time is 

strictly observed in this play, but this had been made possible 

to Corneille only through the happy circumstance of the historical 

authenticity of the action. The extraordinary nature of the action 

is indeed made more plausible by the limited time in which it is 

1. Un jour. 

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121 


made to occur, for with more time for deliberation, it would he 
far 1688 credible that the various characters would go to such 
extreme ends. In this play, then. Unity of Time is a distinct 
asset, and is more natural than in the Cid. 

Let us examine now, briefly, the Unity of Place. The 
stage directions read as follows: "La se&ne est a Home, dans une 
sails de la maieon d'Horace." This is an approach to the 'palais 
a volonte* which Corneille advocated somewhat later in his rJcamens 
and ftlecours . and which was fully established at the time of Ba- 
cine. Unity of Place is adhered to without harm to Verisimilitude 
except possibly at one point in 4ct V. The trial of Horace, which 
in Livy is conducted by the Duumviri in the public square, taices 
place in the house of the elder Horace by the king alone. #ut 
this difficulty can be explained away, by the fact that the king 
did not come for the purpose of Judging Horace. Indeed, he knew 
nothing of the murder of Camille, and he was forced, very reluctant¬ 
ly, to act as Judge. Although the truth of history is disregarded, 
it does not appear that verisimilitude is equally lacking. On the 
whole, the truth of history, that is, the legendary history of 
Livy, 18 followed, and Unity of Place is maintained without sacri¬ 
ficing 'vralsemblance'. The handling of place in this play is im¬ 
portant, for it is the first time in Corneille*8 plays that the 
multiplex scenery has disappeared, supplanted by a one-room setting 
of general character. As we have said of the Unity of Time, the 
Unity of Place has also a particular value in Horace ; because of it. 





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132 


Corneille was not free to present the battle-array, and he was 
thus led to present only the psychological actions which are by 
far the more interesting. 

Unity of Action will hold our attention a little longer, 
and we shall need to develop the consideration of it in somewhat 
greater detail. Let us first follow the principal actions of 
the play. The declaration of war, the choosing of the champions, 
the combat, Rome’s victory, the murder of Camille, and the abso¬ 
lution of Horace from the main action. We must ne*t judge whether 
these actions grow out of one another, or are the result of the 
characters. If we except the primary "donnees" of the play, i.e., 
the declaration of war and the choosing of the champions, which 
are the cornerstones upon which *e are to build, we can say that 
the resulting action is, indeed, dependent upon the characters. 

This will be developed more clearly later in connection with the 
’denouement 1 . Por the moment, let us consider whether the action 
is completed. Is the action brought to a real conclusion in 
Horace ? Certainly Camille’s lot is settled and Horace is crowned 
with a lasting glory, so we may conclude that the tragedy is com¬ 
pleted. But the question as to whether the play was not completed 
after the R man victory, is a point which concerns Unity of Action, 
quite as much as plot. Since, however, we have considered this 
in an earlier paragraph, we may be permitted to repeat here only 
our conclusions, namely, that the outcome of the battle was not 
the subject of the play for Corneille, and therefore the tragedy 
is not ended there. If the subject is the clash of two opposing 



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133 


wills, as we have said, is ther* anything in the play irrelevant 
to its development? In answer, we may quote Petit de Julleville:(l) 
"Camille livrerait tout, memo la patrie, pour sauver la vie de 
l*amant. Horace imnfclera tout, meme le sang dee siens, k la 
gloire de Home. &ntre ces deux passions absolues, sans merci, sans 
remords, la lutte est inevitable: elle est contenue et suspendue 
pendant troie aotes par les peripeties hatilement m^nagees du com¬ 
bat fratricide; elle ecl^Jfce au quatrieme quand le vainqueur 
®PP®ralt, triomphant, aux yeux de sa soeur desesperee. Camille 
ineulte Horace, il l'ecoute avec d^dain, maie sans fureur; Camille 
outrage Rome, et Horace la tue. &Ue tomb©, et evec elle tombe 
1 * amour vaineu, immfcle au patriotisms. j£t le cinquieme acte est 
monotone et froid, mais non pas inutile, comme on l'a dit a tort; 
car 11 absout Horace. M What an admirable outline of the play, and 
how clearly it shows the unity of the whole: Yet this is perhaps 
the viewpoint of modern criticism, and it is more probable that 
Aristotle would have agreed with Corneille in seeing a double peril 
to Horace, of which the second was in nowise a case of f propter 
hoc* but simply of 'post hoc'* 

have still left the consideration of the character of 
Sabine. We have seen that her role was sacrificed to that of 
Camille, but must we say that Sabine is as unnecessary to the 
action as the Infanta was in the Cid ? Since Corneille made Satoine 
the wife of Horace, she had a very real interest in all the action 
of the play, whereas the love of the Infanta for Rodrigue was not 
1. Morceaux Choisie , pp. 236, 237. 





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154 


sufficiently developed to make a strong bond of sympathy. 

Although the role of Sabine ie much larger in Horace than the 
role of the Infanta, yet it 'would seem that her chief function 
ie to give symmetry to the play, just as the Infanta had done 
in the Cid. The modern critic is willing to admit that Sabine 
has more place in the tragedy than the Infanta in the Cid . yet 
it cannot be denied that the role is dramatically weak. In 
what must have been a ooneoious effort to make the role of Sa¬ 
bine a more integral part of Horace than that of the Infanta had 
been in the Cid , Corneille bordered on the other extreme, and 
developed the role too far for a secondary personnage, none of 
whose actions affect the turn of the tragedy. 

Our conclusion as to the Unities ie now easy. From the 
Aristotelian point of view, Unity of Action is impaired by the 
double peril, although both perils work together towards the 
final ’denouement*, which is the triumph of Patriotism over Fam¬ 
ily. The time of the action ie limited to the twenty-four hours; 
and the place is a single room. 

In Horace . Corneille attained to the model he sought: a 
technically perfect classic tragedy. It ie the romanesque nature 
of the plot and the happy ending of the hero which prevent Horace 
from being a faultless tragedy like Racine’s Andromaque or Phedre . 
We have already said in our discussion of psychological action 
in the preceding chapter, that Racine’s dramatic method, of choos¬ 
ing simple plots with unhappy outcomes, made him essentially 
Aristotelian. And we must recall again hew much Racine was in¬ 
fluenced by his Janeenletic training, which taught him the weak- 








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136 

ne88 of the Human Will, and also by the fatalistic doctrines 


of the Greeks which he learned at Port-Royal. Corneille's 
whole psychology was opposed to these doctrines, and it would 
hare been impossible for Corneille to portray the defeat of the 
Human Will. The fact that in Horace , Corneille constructed a 
tragedy with ell the qualifications of an Aristotelian play, 
including the elements of the plot, and the characters of his 
protagonists, to which he added the pseudo-Aristotelian Unities, 
this fact should, therefore, receire keen appreciation from 
modern criticism* Horace is "the first great tragedy in the French 
manner - firstly, it portrays in a narrow compass, a deep moral 
struggle; secondly, it conforms strictly to the rule of the three 
unities." (1) Lanson considers Horace the triumph of Tragedy, 
for it "rompt avec le roman, le pr^oleu*, l'Espagne, et ramene a 
1*antique." (2) 

1. Sitze and Galpin, op. cit., p. 360. 

2. Histcire . p. 427. 








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136 


CHAPTER VII - CINNA 

Cinna cu La Clemence d* Auguste is a sister-play to 
Horace .and inseparable from it, Cinna immediately followed 
Horace in 1640, (1) and met with a tremendous success. In¬ 
deed, Cinna enjoyed during Corneille’s lifetime a reputation 
close to that of the Cld . We need not concern ourselves with 
the details of this first presentation, but begin immediately 
the examination of the elemente of the play and their treat¬ 
ment. 

Corneille again chose a subject from Roman history, 

using as his text a passage from Seneca, as in Horace he had 

modelled his play on certain chapters from Livy. ’The subject 

of cinna was well adapted to the public of 1640, for it is a 

presentation of public policy, i.e., a political subject, in 

a universal aspect. Whether or not we accept the theory that 

Corneille was secretly pleading in behalf of hie compatriots at 

1. The Freres Parfaict give 1639 as the date of Cinna , but this 
is manifestly incorrect, since ws fcnow that Cinna was poster¬ 
ior to Horace, which was played in 1640. Cf. Marty-Laveaux, 
III, 364, 366. 
















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137 

Bouen (1), with the hope that Richelieu would follow the 
example of magnanimity, we must at all events recognize that 
the 'lesson of Empire 1 was *de circonstanoe.' 

Like the Cid and Horace , again Ciena is alec a psy¬ 
chological drama, and even more so than the first two. There 
is considerable external action in the background, but the actors 
in the conspiracy never appear, and all their plans are merely 
related. In Aristotelian terms, the plot is complex, having 
several reversals of fortune. In the first three scenes of Act 
I, w© are told the necessary antecedents of the plan and the 
arrangements for the conspiracy. Scene IV brings a sharp rever¬ 
sal when it appears that Augustus has discovered the conspiracy. 
This is reversed again in favor of Cinna and Maximo at the open¬ 
ing of Act II when Augustus speaks so frankly to his confidants. 
The first scene brings another reversal, not of situation, but of 
character, in Cinna and Maxime, who utter so blandly such false 
advice. Prom conspirators this should not surprise, nor would it 
disconcert, the audience, wore it not that Augustus has already in 
a few lines, captivated one's sympathy by his sincere self revela- 

1. Cf. Marty-Laveaux, III, 361-363. Cf. also article by G. L. 
van Boosbroeck in Modern Philology , (192£), pp. 1-17, en¬ 
titled: "Corneille's 'Cinna'and the'Conspiration dee Dames.*" 
In this article a new and far more convincing theory is pres¬ 
ented as to the historical background of Cinna . Professor van 
Rocsbroeck would see in the Roman conspiracy an idealized 
picture of the conspiracy led by Madame de Chevreuse, through 
the instrumentation of the Comte de Chalais, against Bichelieu 
himself. 











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108 


tion* (l) Act III Introduces the first important reversal of 
fortune, when Maxime deliterates (sc. 1) as to disclosing the 
conspiracy to the Emperor* His decision is not acted upon 
until Act IV, sc* 1 # when iSuphorbe reveals the facte to Augus¬ 
tus. Act IV, sc. 2 heightens our sympathetic admiration for 
Augustus, although we do not here foresee the 'denouement*• So. 

0 is further preparation, with the counsel of Livia, for the 
final outcome. Sc. 4 continues good fortune with the report, 
though false, of Maxima's death, and i&sllie'e confidence that her 
'vertu* will carry her through to a glorious death, as an accom¬ 
plice in the conspiracy. Sc. 6 ie the episode of Maxima's attempt 
to abduct imiilie. Its value to the plot is to show Maxime's miser¬ 
able character, and to portray Jmilie's steadfastness of purpose. 
This scene rather increases our sympathy with the cold iimilie. Sc. 
6 further degrades the character of Maxirae who blames his ill succ¬ 
ess and consequent disgrace on iSuphcrbe, a cringing freedoan. Act 
V opens with the big scene between Augustus and Cinna. Here the 
Emperor is still undecided as to the punishment he will deal out to 
Cinna, but it is apparent that the thought of clemency has not yet 
suggested itself. This dialogue is interrupted by the sudden en¬ 
trance of livie and ^milie (sc. 2) when ^milie avows her share in 
the plot against the itaperor's life. At the end of this scene, 
Augustus intends to measure the punishment by the horror of the 
1. This matter will be discussed further under characters. 



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139 


crime; (11. 1661, 1662) 

Et y que tout l'univers, sachant ce qui m'anime, 

S'etonne &u supplies aussi bien que du crime. 

The third scene brings Uaxime before the emperor, and he 
confesses his mean jealousy and the triple treachery to his 
Emperor, his friend, and his lady. Realizing now that he can¬ 
not count even on those who seem his best friends, Auguste sees 
the light and recognizes that hie only hope is clemency. (1) 11. 
1696 ff. form the 'denouement'; 

Je suis maltre de moi eomme &e l'univers; 

Je le suie, je veux l’etre, 0 sled©, © memoirs. 
Conserves a jamais ma derni^re victoird 
Je triomphe aujeurd'hui du plus juste courroux 
Pe qui le souvenir puisse aller jusqu'a voua. 
Soyone amis, Cinna, moi qui t’en convie: 

After redoubling his gifts to Cinna, and pardoning all 
the conspirators and their leaders, the play ends with the proph¬ 
etic words of Livie, that by this deed of clemency, Auguste has 
won security for himself for all time together with the affection 
of the Roman people. 

Such then is the plot we have to consider, \$e notice 
immediately two elements which are not Aristotelian, i.e., which 
Aristotle condemns for the perfect tragedy. The reversal of for¬ 
tune is of the fourth, or poorest type in Aristotle’s order; the 
case where a character intends to kill another with full know¬ 
ledge of the identity, and then does not kill. This could not be 
Aristotelian, since to withdraw from a project of killing would 


1. Cf. Herman!. Act IV, in which Charlemagne gives the same lesson 
oT clemency to Charles Quint - The last lines of the Act read; 
"je t'ai cri£: "Par ou faut-il que je commence?" Et tu m'as 
r^pondu? "Mon fils, par la clemenceJ" 







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140 


result either from cowardice which would not befit a tragic 
hero, or from moral restraint, which would keep the character 
from having the ’tragic flaw’, so necessary to the perfect pro¬ 
tagonist of Tragedy. «e can foresee from this some of our con¬ 
clusions in regard to character, but let us leave that discussion 
to its proper time and place. The second un-Aristotelian qtjality 
in this plot is the happy ending. In Horace , we found a 
’denouement’ which to a certain extent at least, was tragic, since 
Camille was killed. Here, however, every one is pardoned, even to 
Maxime and Euphorbe, and the Emperor has conquered himself which 
is more than all (1. 1696): 

Je suis raaltre de moi course de I’univers. 
and 11. 1779, 1780: 

Et que vos conjures entenaent publler 

Qu*Auguste a tout appris et veut tout oubller. 

Yet the plot has many Aristotelian requirements: it deals 
with well-known and illustrious personages taken from Homan his¬ 
tory. The internal psychological struggle is developed clearly 
and skilfully. The ’denouement’ is psychological, not external, 
and has teen motivated throughout the play, at least from the first 
appearance of Augusts, when he shows his great concern for the wel¬ 
fare of the state. The action in Cinna is less complicated than 
in Horace , just as Horace marked a great advance over the Cid. (1) 
As in the Cid and Horace . Corneille was here again bound 

1. Yet there are in Cinna some suggestions of the romanesque 
action of Corneille e later period. Cf. the planned ab¬ 
duction and the false suicide. 









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by the historical *denouement* • To have made of this plot an 
Aristotelian tragedy, it would have been necessary for the con¬ 
spirators to have killed Augustus, and for Clnna to have perish¬ 
ed in remorse. It is very interesting to find the following pass¬ 
age, in which Corneille has outlined what would have made a 
thoroughly Aristotelian ’denouement* (11. 1061 ff.) Cinna is 
speaking: 

Vous le voules,..j’yeoure, a* parole est donnee; 
Mala ma main, aussitot contre mon sein tournee, 

Aux manes d'un tel prince imaolant votre amant, 

A mon crime force joindra mon ehatiment, 
it par cette action dans 1*autre confondue, 
Recouvrera raa gloire aussitot que perdue. 

But such was not the subject Corneille proposed to treat. Tie 
may repeat here what has already been said, and what is increas¬ 
ingly true of the later plays: Corneille deliberately chose sub¬ 
jects which did not have an Aristotelian ’denouement*, for those 
were the stories of inconquerable heroism. 

One problem in connection with Cinna has been presented 
by Voltaire and all critics since: why the double title, n Cinna 
ou La Cleraenoe d* Auguste ”? Has the play a single hero, and 
which is he, Cinna or Auguste? The contemporaries of Corneille, 
Including Balzao, who scarcely mentions Auguste, considered Cinna 
the hero of the play, as would be logical from the title. They 
would analyze the plot as follows: Cinna conspires against Augus¬ 
tus; Cinna *b conspiracy is discovered; Cinna is pardoned, thus 
Cinna le maintained in the preeminent position. The modern critic, 
however, would find the hero in Augustus and outline the plot in 






. 












this manner: Augustus is threatened by a conspiracy; Augustus 
discovers the conspiracy, and pardons the conspirators. It Is 
an interesting ’coup de main* which thus shifts the whole accent 
of the play. And it is our problem to determine, if possible, 
which of these interpretations is correct. If one considers the 
first act alone, without relation to the succeeding circumstances, 
it seems evident that the spectator's sympathies are entirely 
with Cinna and the conspirators, against the Emperor. Augustus 
is described by Cinna in terms which admit of no misunderstand¬ 
ing (11. 166 ff.): 

Et son salut depend de la perte d'un homme. 

Si l’on doit le nom d'homme k qui n'a rien d'humain, 
A ee tigre alt^re de tout le sang romain. 

Yet early in Act I, there is one mention of the generotfsity of 

Augustus towards Emilie (11. 63, 64): 

Auguste chaque jour, a force de bienfalts, 

Semble asses r^parer les matut qu'll vous a faite. 

That these 'bienfalts* are conscious and willed on the part of 

Augustus is well shown in 11. 637 ff•: 

Pour epouse, Cinna, je vous donne JSttilie; 

V 0 U8 savez qu'elle tient la place de Julie, 

~t Que si nos malheurs et la n^cessi^e , 

M'ont fait traiter son pere avec seVerite, 

Mon c^pargne depuis en sa faveur ouverte 
Doit avoir adouci l'aigreur de oette perte. 

In the last Act (sc. E), both the Emperor and Livie reproach 

Emilie with her ingratitude. The couplet quoted above (11. 63, 64) 

must be regarded as the only true note to the character of Augustus 

in Act I, and it alone would seem to justify ~mile Faguet'e 


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143 


position (1), that Corneille fully prepared the audience for the 

preeminent position of Augustus. Faguet says that the spectator 

who allows his sympathy to go with Cinna in Act I, is mistaken, 

and if he continues this false interpretation in Act II, he is 

entirely wrong, and the author should not he blamed for the 

errors of the public. Indeed, after the first appearance of the 

Emperor, our attention and interest are shifted to him entirely, 

and remain with him until the end of the play. Augustus is first 

presented as having the interests of Rome and the welfare of the 

state at heart. Howhere does he act or speak in such a way as to 

Justify the conspiracy. He greets Cinna and Maxime as ”mee chers 

amis” (1. 393) and continues in 11. 399, 400: 

Traitez-moi comme ami, non comae souversin, 

Rome, Auguste, l'Etat, tout est en votre main, 

an attitude which is again echoed in 11. 1123, 1124: 

Reprenez le pouvoir que vous m'avez commis, 

Si donnant des sujets, il dte les amis. 

The high point is reached with the words of Augustus in 11. 621 ff. 

B'en deliWrons plus, cette pitie l*emporte. 

Mon repos m’est lien cher, male Rome est la plus 

forte; 

Et quelque grand malheur qui m’en puisse arriver, 

Je consens k me perdre afin de la sauver. 

This position is never reversed during the play, and only reaches 
its culmination in 11. 1696 ff., already quoted. Augustus is 
without any doubt presented as the ’heW genereux 1 of the trag¬ 
edy (2). 

1. En llsant Corneille , p. 132. 

2. Corneille made it quite clear in the Deoioace to Montoron that 
Auguste was the hero. Cf. Petit de Julleville, Morceaux 
Choisis, pp. 370, 371. 










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As one critic has expressed it (1): n JSe semble-t-il pas que le 
poete voyait d’abord en eux (the conspirators) lee hero8 de sa 
piece, male que, contraint par le developpement logique des 
caraet^res et la tyrannic des situations, voyant ee dresser devant 
lui un Auguste plus grand encore qu’il ne l'avait reve, vaincu, 
lui aussi, par ce h£ros nouveau que son imagination vient d’en- 
fanter tout d’une piece (2), il ee jette en memo temps qu’eux, 
aux pieds de l’empereur, pour ee fair® pardonner de l 1 avoir un 
instant m^connu?" There can be no doubt but that Augustus is 
the hero in Corneille’s mind, and all misapprehension caused by 
Act I is adequately wiped away by the words of Livie, beginning 
1. 1609: 

Tons ces crimes d’htat qu’on fait pour la couronne, 

Le ciel nous en absout alors qu’il nous la donne, 

.^t dans le sacr& rang ou sa favour l’a mis, 

Le pass^ devient juste et I'avenir permis. 

This passage is important, not only as the expression of Corneille’s 
belief in the Divine Bight of kings, but more specifically as in¬ 
dicating his entire sympathy with Augustus, whom he presents to us 
as his hero. If, then, Corneille recognized that through more than 
three acts, Augustus was the hero of the play, and that it is on 
that note that the play is to end, what prevented him from changing 
the title to simply " La Cl^mence d* Auguste ? or better still, 
"Auguste”? The first of these, " Idiplemenoe d’ Auguste ” is a longer 

1. Hemon, Felix: Oeuvres de Corneille , II, p. 19. 

2. It is to be noted that Corneille quite transformed the Augustus 
of history, and made of him a majestic, heroic figure. Cf. Petit 
de Julleville, Morceaux Choisls. pp. 373, 374. 



























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146 


title and is therefore not as good as a one-word title* Cor¬ 
neille^ practice was always to use a one-word title for his plays 
with a sub-title where it seemed necessary. " Cinna " alone would 
be inexact and would not mean much to the audience. " Auguste * t on 
the other hand, would be too vague, since the iimperor's life offer¬ 
ed many possible subjects for tragedy. Put the fact still remains 
that there exists a very real dramatio weakness which Corneille 
himself felt, but was unable to obviate. 

The characters of Cinna also present certain difficulties. 

If we are to consider Augustus the hero, have we an Aristotelian 
hero? To this end, Augustus lacks the 'hamartia* or fatal flaw. 

He should have had Cinna killed and the conspirators exiled, ^ust 
as Horace killed Camille; and in addition, he should have repented 
of the deed as soon as done. On the contrary Augustus rises in 
our esteem from his first appearanoe, and ends in a superhuman 
triumph over himself. It is clear that the Emperor's giemency is 
due to pride more than to inherent goodness, and if he conquers 
himself, it is to primarily convinoe himself of his own greatnes*. 
That this was Corneille's conception of this role is manifest from 
linpe already quoted, to which may be added 1. 1713, addressed to 
Emilie: 

Apprends sur mon exemple k vaincre ta colere. 

If we take Cinna as the hero of the play in accordance 
with the title, what have we? A vacillating, inconsistent charac¬ 
ter, alternately dominated by love and by a sense of duty and grati¬ 
tude towards the Emperor. His love for Emilie is the only reliev- 





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146 


ing feature in his odious role. All along we are conscious that 
he is serving hiB mistress and not the cause of Boman freedom. (1) 

But this love itself is weak and not impelling. To have made a 
true tragedy, Cinna would have had to kill Augustus, as Orestes 
killed Pyrrhus, and commit suicide afterwards. It is too evident 
that Corneille was interested in the political aspect of the sub¬ 
ject, and included the love element only in deference to the 
taste of his day. Had Corneille portrayed this love as sufficient¬ 
ly strong to motivate the conspiracy, Cinna 1 s role would have been 
far more honorable, but Corneille's manifest lack of interest in 
the love element d&fcaacts from Cinna'8 character, and leaves him 
as a wholly unsympathetic figure. Cinna errs against another Aris¬ 
totelian precept in his inconsistency, although here he is like 
Chimene in the Cid . 'consistently inconsistent*. This quality is, 
however, less excusable in a man than in a woman, and is entirely 
unbefitting the chief protagonist of a Tragedy. There should be no 
doubt that Corneille never intended Cinna for his hero, when we 
read such lines as the following, put in the mouth of the Emperor (2) 

Si Jueques a c© point son sort(3) est deplorable, 

Que tu sols apres raoi le plus considerable. 


Ta fortune est lie^haut, tu peux ce oue tu veux; 
Mala tu ferois pitie meme a eeuz qu'elle irrite, 


1. Cf. such lines as 160, 260, 221, 717 ff., 744 ff., 842 ff. 

2. IT. 1612 ff. 

3. That of Home 




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Si Je t’alan&onnois a ton peu d© merit©, 

Conte-moi tee vertus, tee glorieux tr«¥aux, 

Lea raree quality* oar olt tu m*ae du plaire, 

&t tout oe qui t*el<hre au-d©Bsus du vulgaire. 

These and similar lines make us realize that Cinna has, in 

fact, shown no strength, no remarkable qualities, and is not 

worthy of the highest place in a tragedy,--surely not in a 

Cornelian tragedy. Thus neither Augustus nor Cinna wcuia 

prove to le an Aristotelian hero: the one is too strong, the 


other too weak. 

braille has been well characterized as "une belle furie w 
by Guez de Salzac, an epithet which has remained to our 
time. She is the exaggeration of Chimene, Already in the 
Old . Corneille had portrayed the type of valorous woman, 
who followed duty and sacrificed love; imille Is of the se¬ 
cond generation, in vshom the trait Is strengthened. Whereas 
Chimene did love Rodrigue profoundly, and it cost her a 
very real effort to sacrifice this love, imilie’s sole 


thought in her love for Cinna seems to lot that it Is a means 


to her one end: longeance.(1) Cf. 1. 1261 ff., where she snys 
to Cinna as she sene's him off to what she expects will he 


death: 

8e crains point de succes oui souille ta memoir©; 
Le bon et le mauvais eont egaux pour ta gloire; 
it dans un tel deseein, le manque de bonheur 
Met en p^ril ta vie, et non pas ton honneur. 


Strange language for a fiancee: This 

1 Not onl? w uld this te In keeping with Corneille's oon- 
lm oeptlon Of character, but also, It fits the Mstorloal 
background, if we are to see in -.milie the intriguing 
LdaL do Chevreuse. Cf. van Eoosbroook's d lscusnlon,loc_. 
cit., pp. 16-17. 




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148 


balanced a few verses later by the words: 

Mala ne perds pas le sola de conserver ta vie; 
Souviens-toi du been few dont nous ©orumee epris, 
Qu'aussi bien que la gloire Krailie est ton prix. 

LI. 329 ff. sound the same note: 

Porte, porte ohez lui cette male assurance, 

Digne de notre amour, digne de ta naissance; 

Meurs, 8*11 y faut mourir, en citoyen romain, 

Kt par un beau trapes, couronne un beau dessein. 

Corneille is always solidtouB of 'la dignite remains* 

whether represented by isimilie, or by Auguste himself. When 

the weak and merely human Cinna exclaims: 

Voue fait©8 des vertus au gre de votre haine, 

the defiant kzailie retorts: 

Je me fais dee vertus dignes d'une Bomaine. 

x-milie is the feminine Horace, and like him, she is capable 

of avenging herself (11. 1017, 1018): 

Sans emprunter ta main pour servir ma colere, 

Je saurei bien venger mon pay® et mon p£re. 

Unlike Chiraene, who succumbed under the wiles of the king 

to test her love, kmilie never allows herself to be crushed 

(11. 1297 ff.): 

Je vous entends, grands DieuxJ vos Vontes que j'adore 
Be peuvent consentir que Je me deehcncre; 

ne me permettant soupirs, 3anglots, ni pleura, 
Soutiennent ma vertu contra de tale malheurs. 

Or again, 11. 1373, 1374: 

B£a perte m'a surprise, et ne m'a point trouble®; 

Mon nolle d^sespoir ne m’a point avouglee. 

isut as we saw in the outline ol the play, Eailie doos not 
have her desire fulfilled, she is not avenged. As in the 
Cid, events take an unexpected turn, and she finally accepts 



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149 


Cinna, not for any excess of valor or virtue on hie part, 
tut on account of the magnanimity of Augustus. Throughout 
the play, the role of ^milie parallels that of Chimfene, and 
^ust as we determined that Chim^ne was not Aristotelian, not 
being 'vraieemblable*, so we may reach the same conclusion 
for Emilio, in whom the *invraiaemllance* is carried to an 
even greater degree. Emilie chose from the first to sacri¬ 
fice love to Vengeance, when her grievance was far more dis¬ 
tant than was the murder of Ton Gomes which was immediately 
present to the mind of Chimcne. 

If we glance bach for a moment on the characters of 
Horace, we shall remember that Horace was, until the end, 
a good Aristotelian character; Camille remained such through- 
out. In Cinna, on the other hand, not one of the characters 
can be called Aristotelian, neither Augustus, Cinna, nor 
Emilie. From this point of view, at least, Horace is more 
Aristotelian than Cinna * 

In analyzing the nature of the Katharsis, we shall 
not be surprised to find that Pity and Fear are alike miss¬ 
ing. We do not fear for Augustus after the first act; nor 
do we fear for Cinna, since any punishment would be merited; 
nor for EmlUe who so deliberately brought trouble upon her¬ 
self. Still more, there is no place for Pity in any of 
these three roles. Admiration of character is again the bas¬ 
is of the play, and it is this faot which,raore than all else, 
leads one t: recognize in Augustus the hero. Our admiration 
of Augustus differs essentially from that which we felt for 







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Horace* In the Emperor we admire clean noy. magnanimity, a 
virtue little Known in the world perhaps, but which should 
be admired whenever found. In Horace . on the other hand, 
we admired Patriotism, tut an exaggerated Patriotism that 
led Horace to kill his own sister. Such a virtue one can¬ 
not admire unguardedly, for it has the weakness of its 
quality. And therein, exactly, lay its Aristotelianism, for 
it is more natural, more human, more universal, that a man 
should carry his qualities, loth good and bad, to excess. 
While Corneille had before him the example of Horace in 
writing Cinna, he did not attain to the same perfection. 

The Unities are handled with even more success than in 
Horace , although there is considerable convention. Unity 
of Action is necessarily weakened by the shift of interest at 
the end of Act 1, already indicated in our discussion of 
plot. The conspiracy remains throughout the principal ac¬ 
tion, and the episode of Maxima's attempt to abduct Kmille 
is sufliciently bound to the main action, since it is be¬ 
cause of this love that the conspiracy is disclosed to the 
iimperor. There is then Unity of Action, alth ugh somewhat 
impaired by the shift of interest. 

Unity of Time gives very little trouble in this play. 
There are but few actual mentions of the time element, and 
there is no straining of incident. The action is be^un at 
the crisis, and all preceding events are narrated briefly 
but completely. There is less narration necessary in Cinna 
than had been used in Horace ; during the play itself, there 
















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is no action of the conspirators. Only such time is needed 
as may be necessary for the interview in the morning between 
the Emperor, Cinna and Maxime, with a brief interval between 
this and the disclosure of the plot, during which Cinna has 
confided his love to Maxima. The pardon of the Emperor 
follows immediately upon the discovery of the conspiracy. 

The actual references to time in the text of the play are far 
fewer than in Horace . and also less definite. In 11. 138, 

139, auiourdMiui is thrice repeated; in 1. 163, void le 
jour heureux sets the time for the whole action. In 1. 260, 
there occurs the frequent trick of rcf< rring to a domain 
which never comes in the action. By 1. 1113 we are in the 
night, and in 1 . 1259 the action is hurried with "nous perdons 
temps". L. 1401 has the familiar expression: "un meme jour”, 
followed two lines later ty ”en un jour". Most of these 
mentions of time are now old tricks to Corneille; he handles 
them more deftly here than in the preceding plays. Cinna 
has undoubtedly the most perfect Unity of Time we have yet 
found; Corneille has definitely mastered this point of tech¬ 
nique. 

Unity of Place gives rise to some difficulties. Cor¬ 
neille seems to have used for Cinna a simplified form of 
the multiple scenery, by which he could have contiguous 
apartments for the Emperor and for Eailie. Verisimilitude 
required that there be these two distinct apartments, for 
it would not be plausible that Cinna*s account to bailie of 
the plans for the conspiracy (Act I, so.3) take place in the 









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same room In which Augustus is so soon to take counsel with 
Cinna and Maxime (Act II, sc. 1). In the second Act, it 
was hardly the part of discretion to have Cinna and Maxime 
discuss their plana while still in the counsel-room of the 
Emperor. The interview with Augustus takes place in the 
palace, and if no chan, e is indicated, the audience continues 
with the S'lme scene in mind. Corneille felt that this was 
unsatisfactory, for in 1. 704 we find one of the rare men¬ 
tions of place: 

Ami, dans ce palais on peut nous eoouter, 

Et nous parlons peut-etre avec trop d’imprudence 
Dans un lieu si ml propre b notre confianee: 
Sortons: qu’en sfcret© j’exaruine avec vous. 

Pour en venir a bout, lea moyens les plus doux. 

But this comes only at the close of the scene, and does 
not obviate the ifficulty. Again in Act IV, it is not 
’vraisemlla le* that the same room should be used for scenes 
1 and 5. In the first of these scenes, Euphorbe makes the 
false report to the Emperor of Maxime's death, and in the 
second, Maxime himself appears before Emilia. But in reality, 
these considerations weighed very lightly upon the mind of 
Corneille, whose thoughts were all intent upon the internal 
drama, and the real place of the action wae for him of no 
importance. It was, in fact, "tout Ideul", and the author 
depended upon the interest of the action to hold the spec¬ 
tator’s attention closely enough so that no consideration of 
time or place would enter his mind. And in fact, Cinna was 
later performed with the indefinite ’palais a volonte* set¬ 
ting, which we have met with already in Horace , and which 




: ' 'ttrft n. • v . ■ is • ■ 

‘ 




153 


became the accepted setting for the classical stage. It can 
only be with reference to this later method of presentation 
that d'Autignac makes the following comment (1): "Je n'ai 
Jamais pu Men ooncevoir comment Monsieur Corneille pent 
faire ou'en un tname lieu Cinna conte a Emilio tout l'ordre 
et toutes les ciroonstanoos d'une grande conspiration centre 
Auguste, et qu*Auguste y tienne un coneeil d© confidence 
avec ses deua favoris?" Since in actual fact, more than one 
locality is necessary for the strict observance of 'vraisem- 
blance* in the play, Cinna falls short of the pseudo-Aris¬ 
totelian requires nt of Unity of Place, But since the in¬ 
definite 'room of a palace' was the accepted convention for 
place, we should recognise that Corneille fulfilled the re¬ 
quirements and Cinna has what was then interpreted as Unity 
of Place, 

Looking back over our discussion of the play, in how 
far does it meet the fundamental requires nt of Verisimili¬ 
tude? There are those who think that the clemency of Augus¬ 
tus is not probable or true to life, after hie bloody struggle 
to gain the Empire, Yet if we consider that clemency was the 
direct result of pride, and a sense of hie own greatness, we 
can understand this deed as natural and 'vraiserai 1able *• In 
this, as so often, Corneille clung to the historical legend, 
without any great concern as to whether the action was pro¬ 
bable or not. This, as we caw in the Cld and in Horace , led 

(1) La Pratique du Theatre . Paris, 1657, Quoted in 

TCtit de Jullevllle, Uorceaux Choiele . p. 398. 










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154 

to the un-Aristotelien ’denouement', since Corneille was 


bound by the facts of history. It is true that all the char¬ 
acters, swung by Augustus himself, made a sudden 'volte-face' 
at the end of the tragedy, which seems more like a theatrical 
trick than good psychology. Corneille's whole interest was 
in the greatness of his hero Augustus, and he disposed of 
the other characters without much apparent thought, it is 
this basis that the statement of lemaltre (1) finds its jus¬ 
tification: "Avec Cinna . dej&, commencent les eclatantes et 
froides erreurs corn6litnnes"• His whole interest is shifted 
now from the situation, the characters, and the setting, to 
the alstreet idea. It is entirely psychological that "La 
Clem-nee d'Auguste" should stand in the title of the play, 
for that is the thought uppermost in Corneille's mind. The 
inevitable result of this abstraction was that the situations 
and the characters lacked psychology, for the author did 
not visualize wither as he wrote. Cinna » although usually 
grouped with Horace on account of the comparative simplicity 
of its plot, is far closer to Ponpee in its psychology, and 
is, if not the beginning, at least the forerunner of the 
later plays. 

After this discussion of Cinna, it may seem strange 
thst it met with such success, and was ranked among the mas¬ 
terpieces of Corneille. This is undoubtedly to e explained, 
in large measure, by the type of audience before whom the 
play was given. The men (and women, indeed) of 1640 were 

1. Petit de Julleville, Hist , de la Langue et de la Litt . 

Fr•, IV. 292. 























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intensely interested in the political aspect of life—not 
that they had any voice in it, hut on that very account, 
their interest in it was keener and Bought an outlet* Thus 
the sulject of Cinna seemed the voicing of a judgment on 
Louis XIII and hichelieu. And in a more general way, the 
generation of 1640 was an ardent admirer of heroes and in¬ 
dividual prowess; it was the period of *1© grand Cond^’ and 
•lee Frondeurs*.(1) Just as Horace had pleased with his 
•beau geste’, though violent, so Auguste was well calculated 
to arouse the hearty admiration and applause of the same 
audiences. The beauty of the verses and their sheer eloquence 
carried the day, and the audience had no thought for psy¬ 
chology or verisimilitude. 

We must not forget that in seeking :ut the Aristotelian 
elements in Corneille’s tragedies, we are joining the ranks 
of Chapelair* and the Academicians, authors of the seatimens . 
rather than the vast audiences who never stinted their prais¬ 
es of the Cid . of ITcrace . and of Cinna . The standards by 
which the two groups judged the plays are entirely different, 
and when we & y that Cinna lacks practically all Aristotelian 
qualities, and announces Corneille’s later manner, we are in 
nowise reversing the judgment of the ages, for in the light 
of mature criticism, Cinna has not continued to r nk as high 
as the Cid and Horace ; its lack of Verisimilitude (the basic 
Aristotelian requires ntj, has kept it from the highest ranks. 
1. Petit de Julleville, ^iorctaux Cholsls . pp. 568, 569. 
















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156 


CHAPTER VIII - POLYiflJCTS 


There ms again a considerable Interval between Clnna 
and the next play. Polyeucte . which did not appear until the 
end of 1641, or the first months of 1642. (1) This tragedy 
presents a new field of discussion, for it is based on a 
Christian martyrdom. (2) Before considering the efficacy or 
inefficacy of such a subject for tragedy, it may be well to 


1. 1640 is the date given by the Freres Parfaict; 1645 by 
Marty-Laveaux. But Lanson in his ^squlsse , states that it 
must have been before the pub lies ticn of the Sadi of du 
Ryer, the 'aeheve d'imprinter* of which is dated May 31, 

1642. htxgdne Rigal has given conclusive evidence that 
Polyeucte was produced in the season of 1641-1642. Cf. 
article in Bevue Universityire . Vol. IX, (1911). The mat¬ 
erial of this articl e has been reproduced by A. Morlze in 
his volume. Problems and Methods of biterary History. Boston 
1922, pp. 136-138. 

2. On the subject of Polyenete of . the article by H. Hauvette, 

"Un Precurseur italien de Corneille: Sirolano *artolom- 
mei," in the /tnnales de I’ Cniversite de Grenoble . (Vol. IX, 
1897), pp. 667-677. beyond the suggestion of the subjects 
of Polyeucte and Theodore .Hauvette sums up as follows, Cor- 
neiTIe*s delt to fcaVtolommel: The character of Felix, and 
his important position as prefect or governor of the pro¬ 
vince; the celebration of the ^jnperor '& victory over the 
Persians; and in Theodore , the scene of the play. This arti 
cle makes it very clear that Corneille at least knew the 
tragedies of Polletto and TKeodora of Partolommei, both of 
which had been published in Hauvette also shows that 

Bartoloramei hed very probably been in France just previous 
to the appearance of Polyeuct e in 1642, but such a visit may 
have been subsequent to the composition of Corneille’s play. 


























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present at least briefly the plot of the play. Polyeucte, an 
Armenian, is married to Panline, daughter of the Homan governor. 
Polyeucte inclines to Christianity and is about to embrace that 
faith. He hesitates only because Pauline has fearful fore¬ 
bodings of a violent death menacing Polyeucte, as had been 
predicted to her the preceding night in a dream. At last, he 
departs, leaving Pauline to narrate to Stratonioe, her confi¬ 
dante, the details of this horrible dream. Before leaving Home, 
Pauline had loved and been loved by Severe, a valiant Homan 
soldier, but without fortune. In spite of her love for Severe, 
she had obeyed her father, and soon after their arrival in 
Armenia, she had married Polyeucte. Sot long after, they heard 
the report of Severe’s death on the field of battle. Yet in her 
dream. Severe had threatened to kill Polyeucte, apparently out of 
Jealousy of the preferred husband. At this point, occurs the 
first reversal of fortune (Act I, sc. 4), when Felix, father of 
Pauline, announces the arrival of the victorious Severe, to 
celebrate a sacrifice. Both foresee that the real reason of his 
coming is to marry Pauline, now that he has risen in fortune. 

The father prevails on the daughter to see sMre and temper his 
anger, when he shall have learned the t she is the wife of 
another. The opening scene of Act II presents Severe who heard 
from his confident that Pauline is married. There follows the 
meeting between Pauline and Sdv^re, which is without incident, 
and the return of Polyeucte. Pauline still fears for the life 








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of Polyeucte, in spite of the apparent calm of Severe. Act II, 
sc. 6 shows Polyenete with his Christian friend Uearque, plans- 
Ding to overthrow the idols at the altar during the sacrifice, as 
Polyeucte T s confession of faith. Polyenete's ardor now goes 
beyond the hopes of Nearque who would dissuade him from this plan, 
which is sure to mean death to Polyeuote. Act III begins with a 
monologue by Pauline, whose fears are heightened by the knowledge 
that Revere and Polyeucte will meet in the Temple during the 
sacrifice. Sc. 2 contains the narration by Stratonice of the 
catastrophe in the Temple, and in the third scene, Felix announces 
his sentence: Polyeucte shall repent or hb shall die, like Nearque. 
Pauline is sent to urge Polyeuote to recant, while Albin relates to 
Felix the martyrdom of Searque. Felix reveals the conflicting 
passions in hiB own heart; love of Polyeucte and a certain am¬ 
bition, which would be furthered by the death of Polyeucte. Act IV 
opens with the appearance of Polyeucte, who has been sent for by 
F^lix. Before the arrival of Pauline, there is time for Polyeucte 
to send a messenger to Severe, and to soliloquize in lyric stanzas. 
In the meeting with Pauline, Polyeucte stands firm in his resolu¬ 
tion not to betray his new faith. Upon the arrival of severe, 
Polyeucte entrusts Pauline to him, expressing the wish that they 
should marry and live happy, and die a Christian death* Pauline, 
instead of accepting Severe, asks him to prevail upon her father 
to save Polyeuote. S^vire determines to make this sacrifice, not 
only of hie love, but even perhaps of his favor with the Smperor, 
in order to prove himself worthy of Pauline. Act V shows Felix 












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nho doubts the sincerity of Severe*s attempt to save Polyeucte, 
thinking that he seeks to accuse F^lix before the iimperor. In 
spite of the pleas of Pauline, F^lix orders that Polyenete b© 
killed* Pauline follows Polyenete to the scaffold, and at the 
sight, she is converted to the Christian faith* When she begs 
death at the hands of her father, he too is touched by divine grace, 
and seeks the death of the martyrs. Severe, at this spectacle, is 
moved to pardon both Ftslix and Pauline, and to promise to use his 
favor to diminish the severity of the kmpercr towards the Christians. 

3?he plot is very complex, and there are several reversals of 
fortune in the Aristotelian manner* The 'denouement* may seem 
artificial, yet in fact, it is well motivated throughout* The calm 
dignity of Severe's character and his inclination towards religious 
tolerance, make his last words 'tnaisemblatles•. Pauline's sudden 
conversion has been motivated by the words of Polyeucte (11. 1276- 
1278): 

Ce Dieu touche les oowuse lorsque moins on y pence. 

Ce blenheureux moment n'est pas encor venu; 

II viendra, male le temps ne m'en est pas connu; 

and also by Pauline's own character, which leads her always to see 
Duty and to follow it. The conversion of Felix is less persuasive 
and less 'vraisemblable'; Corneille himself admits that he had re¬ 
course to that as the best way to dispose of this character. The 
Aristotelian method would have been for Felix to have killed him¬ 
self, recognizing his error in sacrificing a noble soul to his own 
fears and ambitions. The plot itself, in its treatment, is Aris¬ 
totelian, except for the detail of F&Lix, who is in reality a minor 





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160 


figure. The characters will be studied later. 

But what shall we say of the Christian subject? This was 
beyond the pale of Aristotle's criticism. What authority did 
Corneille have for presenting such an action? Corneille had 
some misgivings as to the success which would attend this play, 
due in part doubtless to the rigorous Unities and 'convenances*, 
but in greater part, probably, because of its Christian subject.(l) 
These misgivings are evidenced by the fact that Corneille read 
the play at the Hotel fle Hambotillet, where it was received, 
according to Fontenelle (2), with distinct coldness. Corneille 
was tempted to withdraw the play from the actors, but was finally 
persuaded to leave it to its own fortunes. And indeed, at the 
Hotel de Bourgogne, Polyeucte won much favor. 

The question of admitting a Christian martyrdom to the 
tragic stage has two possible objections: one as to the plot it¬ 
self, and the other as to the perfect character of the hero. Both 
these objections were made in 1642, but only the second can be 
made on Aristotelian grounds. let us comment briefly on the first 
objection, which deals with the fitness of such material for a 
tragic plot. In the rjramen to the play, Corneille cites several 
authors who had used religious subjeots on the stage, and the 
only suggestion of apology which he offers is for the fact that he 
has changed some of the historical details, as he might have done 
with a classical subject. Here, however.he says that while we 

^he sixteenth century stage had produced a number of tragedies 
based on Biblical subjects (Saul, Jephte, Lee Juives), but such 
subjects had somewhat lost favor in the seventeenth century. 

2. Quoted by Marty-Lavesux, III, 466. 







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161 


may change nothing which Is in the Bible, with the lives of 
the saints it is different and the poet may be allowed the 
same freedom he would have with any other subject-matter. 

On the score of the perfect hero, the objection is more 
valid, and Corneille himself recognized this in the ffxamen . 
for he says: "Ceux qui veulent arreter nos heros dans one 
mediocre bonte, on quelques interpretes d'Aristote bornent 
leur vertu, ne trouveront pas ici leur compte, puisque eelle 
de Polyenete va Jusqu'a la saintete, et n'a auenn melange de 

e. 

foiblese®." He then cites Minturno, who admits perfect hero A s.(l) 
And indeed, it is on the authority of Uinturno alone that Cor¬ 
neille rested in this matter, for Aristotle’s precept is clear: 
the tragic hero should not be wholly virtuous, the reasons ad¬ 
duced by Aristotle, as will be remembered, were shund enough, grant¬ 
ed his other requirements: if the perfect hero is raised from bad 
to good fortune, the ending will be happy, which makes no tragedy, 
and if the perfect hero is brought from good fortune to bad, it 
only arouses our indignation and a sense of the wrong committed, 
without at all calming the passions, which is the proper function 
of ^Tragedy. It becomes, then, immediately clear that in the Aris¬ 
totelian system, it is not possible to portray a wholly virtuous 
character. We may say that Polyenete has a fatal flaw in the 
fanaticism which led him to overthrow the idols, but Corneille in 
his Christian ardor, painted fchis as a virtue, not an error. Prom 
1. Cf. supra , Ch. II, for reference to Minturno'B text. 









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162 


Corneille*s own viewpoint Polyenete remains ever the perfect 
hero, and therefore un-Aristotelian. Since the essence of the 
subject of Polyencte is the martyrdom of the hero, we must 
agree that it is not an Aristotelian subject. 

Is the ’denouement* Aristotelian? is it unhappy? Poly- 
eucte i8 killed, to be sure, but is not the death of a martyr in 
a certain sense a triumph? %e cannot examine into these matters 
too closely for fear of becoming casuistical, and we should 
perhaps consider that Polyencte*s death is the tragic incident, 
and gives to the tragedy an unhappy ending, if not completely 
tragic, in spite of the happy outcome for the other characters. 

As suggested above, the ’denouement* would be more completely 
Aristotelian had Felix killed Pauline and finally himself. 

As la Horaoe , Corneille gave to an essentially un- 
Aristotelian plot as nearly as possible, an Aristotelian treat¬ 
ment. Polyenete comes nearer the true tragic hero than does 
Horace , since the hero is himself killed in the former, while in 
the latter it is only the heroine, and the hero stands ever 
triumphant. The fundamental quality of Polyeucte has been in¬ 
dicated when we saii that he was wholly virtuous. As to the other 
requirements, he is not truly ’vraisemblable* or true to life, 
since the instances of martyrs ore historical, not universal. As 
usual, Corneille has chosen a striking instance in history, of 
an uncommon situation, rather than a striking example of a common 
situation as did Bacine. If we stop for a moment to reflect, we 
shall observe that in not one of the tragedies so far has Cor- 






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163 


neille attained the Aristotelian ideal, and in every case, the 
one insurmountable obstacle has been that he chose an historical 
subject which could not be handled in the Aristotelian manner. 
Prudent advice was it Indeed, when Aristotle warned in the ?oe tig s, 
that not every historical subject w*s capable of tragic treatment. 
Because he had not in all probability studied Aristotle's own 
text, Corneille never grasped thiB thought, nor the larger con¬ 
cept which was behind it, that 'le vraisemblable’ is preferable 
to 'le vrai'. 

The character of Pclyeucte is not tragic in the Aris¬ 
totelian sense, in spite of the fact that he meets death, for Cor¬ 
neille has depicted his hero as rising in strength throughout 
the play. In 11. 41 ff., we have the first intimation of Poly- 

eucte's force of determination: 

Vous me connoissez mal: la meme ardeur me brule, 
i/fc le desir s'accrott quand l’effet se reoule: 

Ces pleura, que je regarde avec un oeil d epoux 
Me laissent dans le coeur aussi Chretien que vous. 

The ideal towards which he should strive, is pictured for him 


by Searque in 11. 74 ff.: 


II faut ne rien aimer qu'apres lui, qu'en lui- 

meme, 

B^gliger, pour lui (1) plaire, et femme, et biens, 

* e t rang, 

Kxposer pour sa gloire et verser tout son sang* 
Mats que vous etes loin de cette ardeur parfaite, 
Qui vous est neoessaire, et que je vous souhaite. 


But if Polyeucte still lacks the necessary fervor, he will rise 
to those heights before the close of another act, for in U.^86 
ff., Polyeucte gives Be'arque his own lesson 
1 The Christian God. 








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164 


The whole scene (Aot III, sc. 6) is a masterful development 
of the future martyr 1 s ardor, and his last words, which end 
the act, are: 

Abandonnons nos Jours a cette ardeur celeste: 
Faisons triompher Dieu: qu'il dispose du reste. 

The accomplishment of hie project is reported In the following 
act, in which Polyeucte does not himself appear. To compensate, 
the greater part of Act IV is devoted to Polyeucte, and in¬ 
cludes his lyric stanzas (sc. 2), well adapted to his exalted 
state of mind. He has now definitely overcome all earthly ob¬ 
stacles, and is subject to his Will alone. He need no longer 
fear Pauline's tears, for they will be powerless against his 
superhuman Will. ££. 11. 1146 ff,: 

Saintes douceurs du ciel, adoratles id^es, 

Vous remplissez un coeur qui vous peut reoevoir: 

3>e vos saor^s attraits les amee possdd^es 
Ne conqoivent plus rien qui les puisse emouvfcir. 

Vous promettez beaucoup, et donnez davantage. 

He gives his final answer to Pauline (1. 1612): 

Je ne vous connols plus, si vous n'etes chre'tienne. 

and to the others he cries out (11. 1670, 1671): 

J'ai profane leur temple, et brise leurs autels; 

Je le ferols encor, si J'avois a le faire. (1) 

It is on this note of martyrdom that Polyeucte goes to his death- 
his moral triumph. He has neither the mediocre goodness re¬ 
quired by Aristotle, nor is he true to life in the Aristotelian 
sense. Polyeucte is the most perfect Cornelian hero, and one of 

1. This line had already been used in the Cid, but it has its 
proper place in both tragedies, for it is the expression of 
a strong Will. 




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165 


the most un-Arietoteli*m, in the long series of Corneille*s 
tragedies. 

Pauline is another heroine in the series of Chimene and 
Bailie, in that she never flinches from her doty. But unlike 
either Chimine or &milie, she does not forge for herself 
imaginary, superhuman difficulties. Paced with the necessity 
of renouncing the man she loved, and marrying another, her per¬ 
fect self-control conquers all emotions. It is By this invinci¬ 
ble self-control that Pauline shows herself Cornelian. This 
quality is at the basis of her *vertu*, for which she is con¬ 
stantly solicitous. Cf. 11. 341 ff.: She follows her duty at 
every turn, burying her emotions, and scarcely evincing any 
regrets; she is over-strong. Her whole role is to be explained 
by her constant solicitude for her *vertu* f her ’glolre'. Cf. 

11. 341 ff.: 

Mon pere, 3e puis femme, et Je sals na foiblesse; 

Je sens d&jA mon coeur qui pour luMZis'interesse, 

£t poussera sans doutc, en d6pit de ma foi, 

Quelque soupir indigne et de vous et de raoi. 

Je n*ose m*assurer de toute raa vertu. 
to which Felix answers (1. 363): 

Ta vertu m*est connue. 

And indeed Paulina does go through with the scene with Severe, 
and even exceeds his courage. We have but to recall 11. 646 ff., 
to see that Pauline is, here at least, more Heo-Platonic, more 
superhuman, than Severe: 

Paul.: Sauvez-vous d*une^ tous les deux funeste. 

Sev. : Quel prix de mon amour! quel fruit de mes 

travaux! 

1. Severe. 




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166 


Paul*: C’est 1© remade seul qui peut guerir noe maux. 

Sev. : Je veux mourir dee miens: aimez«on la m^moire. 

Paul*: Je veux guerir dee miens: ils souilleroient 

ma gloire! 

I’his last recalls Severe to his true self, (11. 651 ff.): 

Ah, pui8que votre gloire en prononoe 1*arret, 

II faut que ma douleur cede i son interet. 

Est-il rien que sur mol cette gloire n’obtienne? 

And the scene ends with the parallel, lines (671, 672); 

S&v. : Adieu, trop vertueux objet, et trop eharmant. 
Paul.: Adieu, trop malheureux et trop parfait amant . 

In the second scene with Severe, also, is developed this theme 

of *la gloire*, so dear to Corneille’s heroines. Cf. 11. 1332 ff.: 

...Prisons la: je crain® de trop entendre, 

Et que cette chaleur, qui sent vos premiers feux, 
lie pousse quelque suite indlgne de tons deux, 

S^v^re, oonnoiseez Pauline tout© enti&re. 

Male sachez qu'il n’est point de si cruels trepas 
Ou d’un front assure' je ne porte mes pas. 


Plutot que de eoulller une gloire si pure, 

Que d’epouser un ho me, apr^s son triste sort, (1) 
Qui de quelque faqon soit cause d© sa mort; 


Severe meets the demand on his ’gloire*, and in answer to Fabian’s 
query (1. 1390): 

D’un si cruel effort quel prix esperez-vous? 

36vere replies: 

La gloire de montrer a cette ame si helle 
Que Severe l’egale, et qu’il est digne d’elle: 

Here Corneille has carried to its logical end the Keo-Platonic 

ideal which he had begun in Hodrigue and Chimene(2). 

1. Of. Polyeucte. 

2. It receives Its final expression when Polyeucte ®8?s to 
Pauline and Severe (1. 1305): Vous etes digne d’elle. 










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167 


Pauline is indeed a fit subject for a sudden conversion, 

as Corneille e>pres8es it through Polyeucte (11. 1268): 

Elle a trop de,vertus pour n’etre pas chretienne: 
Avec trop de merite il vous plut la former. 

Pour ne vous pas connottre at na vous pas aimer. 
Pour vivre des enfers esclave inforturjee, 

-it sous leur triete joug mourir eornmA adle eat nee. 

After the martyrdom of her husband, this duty assumes the 
new form of embracing the Christian religion. Pauline has no 
fatal flaw, but is wholly good, never giving in to the n»ny 
temptations which beset her: first as to her marriage to Poly¬ 
eucte, next upon Boeing S^v^re; later in marrying Severe when 
the path is again left open to her. Her first thought is her 
duty of obedience to her father; her second, her duty to her 
husband, She is thoroughly un-Aristotelian, as is also her end¬ 
ing. 

Severe is the ’parfait amant’ -- Corneille uses the ex¬ 
pression several times. (1) He is the Don Sanche of this play, 
but Corneille has become a sufficient master of technique to 
weave him more intimately into the action of the play. Severe, 
too, is thoroughly good, overly good, one is tempted to say. In 
spite of all his over-turned hopes, he never loses control of 
himself and is at all times the personification of dignity. This 
character is the most complete development of the Beo-Platonio 
ideal to be found in Corneille’s tragedies. The words of Pauline 
(11. 1349 ff.) present his role, and Corneille’s conception of 
the ’parfait ©mant* very clearly: 

Vous etas gen^reux; eoyes-le jusqu’au bout. 


1. 11. 203, 672. 






168 


Je eals que c'est beaucoup que oe oue Je aemande; 
Mais plus 1*effort est grand, plus Is gloire m 

eat grand. 

Conserver un rival dont vous etes Jaloux, N 
C'est un trait de vertu qui n'apoartient qu'a vous; 
M% si oe n'est asses de votre rkndmme', 

C'est beaucoup qu'une femme autrefois tant aimee. 


Doive k votre grand coeur ce ou'elle a de plus cher; 
Souvenez-vous enfin que vous etes Severe. 

Adieu: resolves seul ce que vous voulez faire; 

Si vous n'etes pae tel que Je l'ose espkrer 
Pour vous priser encor je le veux ignorer. 

But Severe does fulfill Pauline's expectations *nd end© in a 

triumph of self-mastery. 

Felix is not one of the main characters, from the Aris¬ 
totelian point of view, although he does motivate the'denoue¬ 
ment' . He is a weak, despicable character from the beginning 
to the end, except for his supernatural conversion, which Cor¬ 
neille admits was a dramatic loophole rather than a psychologi¬ 
cal conclusion. At no point is Felix represented as a fine 
personality. The first mention of him is by Pauline in 11. 210 
ff: 

Mon p&re fut ravi qu'il me prit pour^mattrease, 

Et par son alliance il se crut assure / x 
D'etre plus redoutalle et plus eonsidere. 

As these lines set the note for this o aracter throughout the 
play, we need not devote further space to quotations. Being a 
secondary personage, we cannot demand of him the qualities re¬ 
quired for the tragic protagonist, but it is patent that he can¬ 
not be termed Aristotelian. All the main figures: Polyeucte, 
Pauline, Severe, co vaand our Admiration. They are all embodi¬ 
ments of the Cornelian hero, "le gen/reux". In Polyeupta. Cor¬ 
neille has reached a high point in his genius, and this tragedy 
gives an almost complete development of the Cornelian type. 




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169 


which is fundamentally opposed to the Aristotelian tragic 
hero* 

In this discussion of character, we have foreshadowed 
clearly the topic of Catharsis and there remain hot few com¬ 
ments to U made. Polyenete is, par excellence , the tragedy 
of Admiration, in the manner of Mlnturno. Just as Mlnturno 
himself, by his theory of Admiration, was brought to admit 
that the test material for tragedies is to he found in the 
Christian religion, so Corneille, with hie natural inclination 
to portray heroic and ad iralle characters, made his supreme 
effort on a Christian subject and produced hie moBt finished 
tragedy: Polyeucte . 

We may be permitted to anticipate some of the statements 
to be made in our concluding chapter, namely, that Polyeucte 
represents, on certain grounds at least, the highest point 
in Corneille * a Aristotelianism. At the same time, however, 
the dominant note in Polyeucte is Admiration, i. e., the most 
un-Aristotelian Quality in Corneille. In this tragedy, he has 
liberated himself from the essence of Aristotle’s teaching, 
for not one of his characters is Aristotelian; there is neither 
Pity nor Pear, and the JCatharsis is Italian, not Greek. 

On the e>ternal side, the story is Quite different. The 
three Unities are handled with striking success. Corneille is 
aware of this technical excellence and exclaims in the Kxamen , 
"A aon gre, Je n’ai point fait de pibce oh l’ordre du theatre 
soit plus beau et 1’enchalnement des sc&ues mieux menage, 
t’unite d’action, et celles de Jour et de lieu, y ont leur 
Justesse-." As usual, Corneille finds, as others might, by 












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3 .V ‘ ^ ,( ‘ . (am J n 1 t*ir«fre n 'oJtii*-oir 

1 ' t$ ."• ;. .i :t, JJ 








170 


examining very closely, some points at which the natural 
course of events would have taken more time, hut the basic 
requirement that the time should not he so hurried as to 
allow the action to seem crowded, is easily fulfilled* The 
fact is that in Polyeuote we have the most perfect applica¬ 
tion of the three Unities which Corneille ever attained. In 
Cinna, the Unity of Action was marred by the shift of inter¬ 
est. Here, the Unity of Action is perfect, and the plot 
transpires easily within the specified time and place with¬ 
out doing violence to Poetic Trufth. 

Poetic Truth can scarcely he discussed in connection 
with a play of this type. The subject is 'vrai', not'vrai- 
8emhlahle , # and must be accepted or rejected on that basis. 

We have seen that once armed with the truth of history, Cor¬ 
neille felt no concern for poetic truth, of which in fact, 
he had no real understanding. As applied to the characters, 
we have seen that the Aristotelian verisimilitude is lacking, 
since the three main protagonists are wholly virtuous, with¬ 
out the fatal flaw which w uld make them 'men like ourselves*. 
On the other hand, Corneille has mastered the technical side 
of tragedy, and th®re are no longer instances of 'invraisem- 
hlances’ in time or place. 

More than Horace , more than Cinna . which may both be 
said to be attempts towards an ideal, Polyeucte represents the 
high point in Corneille's technical perfection. Put more 
than either of the preceding plays, Polyeucte is also the 
most tremendous Apotheosis of the Human Will in all of Cor¬ 
neille's tragedies. For here three characters triumph; 








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171 


Polyeucte becomes a martyr to hia new-found faith, whi h 
ia the height of hia ambition; Pauline conquers her love 
for Severe on two, even three occasions (1); Severe eonouers 
his Jealousy on two occasions,(2) Prom the standpoint of 
Aristoteliani8m, Polyeucte marks an advance over Clnna in 
but one respect: it has a tragic ending for the hero. In 
its characters and its Catharsis, Polyeucte is no more truly 
Aristotelian than Horace or Clnna . 

1. In the original consent to marry Polyeucte; in Act II, sc. 
2; and in Act IV, sc. 6. 

2. Act II, sc. 1; Act IV, sc. 6. 





























172 


CHAPTJSR IX - P0HP2S 

Following clofe upon Polyeucte in the winter of 1642- 
1643, there appeared Poap^e . which was a return to Homan his¬ 
tory, since the material is t*ken from Seneca and Lucan. Yet 
it is interesting to note a statem n* made by Corneille in 
the Zpttre to Le Menteur . where he insists on the Spanish 
origins of loth Seneca and Lucan. In his earlier period, we 
have observed the strong influence of Spain—an influence 
which is to dominate again in Corneille's later tragedies. 
However, at the time of writing ?omp6e , Corneille had in mind 
the essentially Homan, classic nature of the subject, and he 
himself explains the return to classical material in the 
apltre to Le Menteur : "J'ai fait Pomp^e pour satisfaire k 
ceux qui ne trouvoient pas lee vers de Polyeucte si puis- 
eants qu© ceux de Cinna . et leur nontrer que j*en saurols re- 
trouver la pompe, quand le gujet le pourroit eouffrir". But 
in the conscious effort to lend pompoueness to hie verses, 
Corneille wae misled into a stiffness and coldness, which 
pervades the plot itself and the characters, making of them 
absiractions rather than realities. 

Corneille has outlined the plot of Pompee in the Pisoours 
du Pogme Dramatioue (1): "Ptolomee craint que C^sar, qui vient 
1. Cf. Marty-laveanx, I, 26. 
























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173 


en Sgypte, ne favorise sa soeur dont 11 est amoureux, et ne 
le force & lui rendre ea part dti royaume que son pere lui 
a laisse par testament:pour attirer la faveur de son c6te 
par un grand service, 11 lui immole Pompee; ce n*est pas as¬ 
ses, 11 faut voir comment Cesar recevra ce grand sacrifice. 

II arrive, il s'en fache, 11 menace Ptolom^e, il le vent 
otliger d*immoler les conseillers de cet attentat a cet illus- 
tre mort; ce roi, snrpris de cette reception si pen attendne, 
ee resont a prevenir Cesar, et conspire contre Ini, pour 
^viter par sa perte le malhenr dont il se voit menace. Ce n’est 
pas encore assez; il faut savoir ce qui r6ussira de cette con¬ 
spiration. Cesar en a l’avis, et Ptolomee, perissant dans nn 
com! at avec ses ministres, laisse Cl^opatre en paisiile 
possession dn royaume dont elle demandolt la moitie, et Cesar 
hors de p^ril; l'auditeur n’a pins rien a demander, et sort 
satlsfalt, parce one l’aetion est complete." 

Corneille gave this outline of the play as an example 
of a unified and well-constructed plot, according to his own 
theories. The action is well knit together, lut in this very 
outline, Corneille has trought out the un-Aristotelian quali¬ 
ties of his plot: Cleopatra and Cesar are loth n hors de peril"— 
the ending is not tragic, flevir since Horace , has Corneille 
approached the Aristotelian •denouement 1 , nor does he ever 
again in his later plays. This is entirely due to Corneille*s 
conception of his characters. 

Just as he had wished to depict Horace as the "guerrier 
trop Magnanime'”, and Auguste as the "maltre de soi comma 



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174 


de l'u&lYftrs"* 00 here Cesar is to U "magnanlme" and "ver- 
tueux". It is the Cornelian type of the w heros g^nereux” 
which has become an obsession with him. In Horace t the ac¬ 
tion wag still historic and true to the character of the 
hero; in Cinna . Corneille chose a 1ittle-Jfcnown incident and 
one not typical of the character of Augustus; in the Cesar 
of Potapee . this clemency was carried to the point of honor¬ 
ing his bitterest enemy. Whst had been entirely acceptable 
in Horace, less so in Auguste, is now sheer exaggeration, 
lacking all prol ability, in the character of C^sar. Through¬ 
out the play, the .Emperor is shown as magnanimous and with a 
splendid sense of Justice, neither of which traits has been 
emphasized by history. It would seem that Corneille felt 
this criticism, and endeavored in part to obviate it, by 
explaining this eagerness to atone for Pompee*s death. As 
early as 1. 174, Septime anticipates the end of the play: 

II (Cesar) lui (a Pompee) pardonnera, s'il faut 
qu*il en dispose, f v 
i£t e^rmsnt a regret de generosite,^ 

D’une fauese ch-nt nee il fera vanite: 

Heureux ds l^aaservir en lui donnant la. vie, 

St de plaire par la h Rome asservie! 

It was not the living Pompee that Cesar pardoned, but the 

dead Pompee, to whom he granted not only pardon, but the 

highest honors. This attitude which Cesar is to take is 

again anticipated in the narration of* Pompee’s desth, 11. 

494-496: 

Mes yeux out vu le rest©, et mon coeur en soupire, 
£t croit cue Cesar meme a de si grands mslheurs 
Re pourra refuser des soupirs et des pleurs. 








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176 


In 11. 773 ff., the same thought Is repeated, but with 
the emphasis on the idea that there was a certain satisfac¬ 
tion in knowing that he was freed from the menace: 

St J© dlrai, si j’oee en faire conjecture, 

Que, par un mouvemcnt eomnmn k la nature, 

Quelque malign© joie en eon ooeur s'elevoit, 

Dont sa gloire indignee k peine le sauvoit. 

L’aiso de voir la terre a son pouvoir souralae 
Chatouillait malgre lui son ame avec surprise, 

St de cette douceur son esprit comtattu 
Avec un peu d*effort raaeurait sa vertu. 

S'il aime aa grandeur, il halt la perfidie. 

In this characterization, it is evident that Corneille sought 

to be fair, by portraying both sides of his hero’s character 

(of. the third and last lines of tne auotation). We should 

not be misled by line 1072 when Cornelia exclaims: 

0 ciel, que de vertus vous me fsites hair! 

This is said in a moment of surprise, and later, when 

she reflects on the situation, ahe too echoes the thought 

that clemency and magnanimity are now easy virtues, and even 

expedient. Cf. 11. 1637 ff.: 

0 soupirs! 6 respect! oh! qu’il est doux de plaindre 
Le sort d’un ennemi quand il n’eat plus h craindre. 
Qu 1 avec chaleur, Philippe, on court a le venger 
Lorsqu’on s'y voit^force par son propre danger, 

St quand cet int^ret qu'on prend pour sa ne icire 
Fait notre eurete comme il orolt notre gloire. 

But Cornelle again changes and in her last speech renders all 
homage to the kmperor. She now seems persuaded of the sincer¬ 
ity of his generosity (11. 1726 ff.): 

Je t'avouerai pourtant, oomme vraimen Romaine, 

Que pour toi mon eetime est ^gale a mn haine, 


Tu vois que ta vertu, qu’en vain on veut trahir. 
Me force de priser c© que je dots hair. 



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176 


It seems clear that Corneille painted C6sar in too 
flowing- colors: he entirely lacks the 'fetal flaw* of Aris¬ 
totelian doctrine, and since the fatal flaw is the essential 
requirement for a character to he poetically true, it is 
immediately apparent that the role of Cesar leeks 'vraisem- 
Vlance'. 

Similarly with Cleopatre. While she Is shown as proud, 
haughty, and filled with ambition, yet her sense of Justice, 
first as regards Pompey, and later towards her brother, does 
not fit in with the historical Cleopatra. As Lema£tre words 
It (1): ”11 est lien etrange qua......cette Jeune reine 

Yertueuse et magnaniae, coquette a peine, ce soit Cleopatra”. 

A few Quotations will suffice to show the coloring which 
Corneille lends to hie heroine. In 11. 623,624, she says: 

J'ai de 1'ambition, mais Je sals la regler: 

£lle pout m*4tlouir, et non pes m'aveugler. 

And throughout the play, she lives up to this standard; at 
no point does she seek to gain the throne from her brother, 
nor does she glory in it when it comes to her through his 
death. 

Antony's description of the charms of Cleopatra empha¬ 
sizes her gentleness, nobility, modesty (11. 947, 948; 956): 

Le ciel n'a point encor, par de si doux accords. 

Uni tant de vertus aux graces d'un beau corps. 

Par un rofus modeste -*- 

And at the end of the play, when Ptolom^e is in the midst of 

1. Petit de Julleville, Hist , de la La ague et_ die la Lltt . Pr., 
IV, 296. 











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177 


the fray with Caesar’s soldiers, she is constantly looking 
opt to save her unworthy, ungrateful trother. It is like 
an echo of 1* 654: 

ist je su 18 tonne soeur si vous n'etes ton frere, 
when we read 1* 1454: 

Je ne puis outlier que leur chef est mon frere. 

It is indeed not possible to see in this perfect heroine the 
ambitious, unscrupulous Cleopatra. 

Since Pompee does not himself speak, he cannot te con¬ 
sidered as one of the characters of the play. Yet the title 
is justified, since it is his death that motivates all the 
action. 

Cornelie's role, while historical, has also a dramatic 
justification in the requirement of symmetry. She is far 
better incorporated in the action than Saline in Horace , and 
she is drawn true to our conception of her. History depicts 
her as a Cornelian heroine, and she fits perfectly into his 
dramatic scheme. She is the worthy counterpart of Pompe’e; 
if he is *1© glorieu> HomBin 1 , she represents quite adequate¬ 
ly 'la glorieuse Homaine*, a type so dear to the generation 
o Palzac and Corneille. The acme of dignity is contained in 
11 . 1021 , 1022 : 

Car enlin n'attends pas que j'aVaisse ma haine: 

Je te 1 *ai d&ja dit, Ce'sar, je suis Homaine. 

We might quote other lines of the seme type, tut this one 
couplet sums up the character of Cornelie. 

Ptolomee is the Felix of this play, the weak character 



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178 

led only by ambition, and constantly cringing before those 
of superior powers, buch a character was despicable to Cor¬ 
neille on account of his very weakness and indecision. 
Ptolomee'e role is that of the modern lllain, and he is 
killed at the end of the tragedy. In this reward of the vir¬ 
tuous and punishment of the wicked, Pompee is tho first trage 
dy in Corneille's later manner. It is the same type which we 
shall find in Rooorune . and in Heraolius , the two most im¬ 
portant tragedies of this period. 

Py its plot and its characters, which Lomattre terms 
"simplifies a outrance et figes dans une attitude unicue M (l), 
Pompee begins a new type of Cornelian play. Tut in its hand¬ 
ling of the Unities, it is still closoly linked to 'orace 
and Clnna . We have seen ly Corneille's own analysis that 
the play has Unity of Action, uninterrupted by episodes, and 
carried to a logical 'denouemtnt'• 

Unity of Tim< occasioned the usual manoeuvering, for 
Corneille was obliged to falsify historical facts. The story 
which is herfc made to transpire in twenty-four hours covered 
in reality something like a year's time. Corneille says in 
the Evamcn : "Pour le temps il m'a fallu require en souleve- 
ment tunraltuaire une guerre qui n’a pu durer guere cioins d'un 
an". But in thus changing the facts of history, Corneille 
has acted according to Aristotle's principles. He did not 
falsify history, but avoided those details which would have 
made the time el< m* nt too evident. All that la presented in 

1. Petit de Julleville, Hist , de la hart rue et de Is Lltt . Fr. 

IV, 296. 













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179 


the tragedy could well have taken place in the twenty-four 
hours, although as in Horace, it w uld have constituted a 
very Tusy day. However, in Pomo^e . Corneille has not his¬ 
torical truth to counterbalance the lack of verisimilitude. 

We may therefore* say that the Unity of Time is not eo com¬ 
plete in Pomp^e as in Horace . 

There are very few textual references to time in Pomoee . 
The first occure in 3. 328: 

Kt peut-etre apfleurd > hui vos yeox seront temoins 
Le ce que votre esprit e*imagine le moins. 

Ho other mention of time is given until 1. 941: 

Par un prompt sacrifice e piez tous vos crimes, 

which hastens the action somewhat and motivates it at the 

same time. LI. 970, 980 contain the most striking reference 

to time we have yet found: 

0 ciel, et ne pourrai-^e enfin a non am ur 
Lonner en lllcrte o± - or-1 reste ju jour ? 

This is undoubtedly intentional on the oart of Corneille, 

who would thus indicate, *s it were, the middle of the action. 

L. 1112 Is a type we have fornd in preceding plays: 

Leux foie en meme jour dlspesens des Remains. 

It reminds one of the time clement, and also of the closely 

knit plot. The same expression is used also in 1. 1409: 

Le voir en meme .jour - 

LI. 1146 ff. recall a similar pa sage in the Cid : 

Cette ville a sous terre une seorete issue. 

Par ou fort aisem nt on lee peut cette quit 
Juscu© dans le palais introduire sans >ruit. 

The action is again pushed forward, lut with reason, in 1. 

















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1423: 

Va, ne perds point de temps, 11 presee. 

This Is at the point where Cornell® is warning Ces r of 
the planned assassination* LI. 1495, 1496 are certainly 
meant to explain away one objection to the brief time allowed: 

Je Ini dresse on bucher a la hate et sane art, 

Tel que je pns sur 1' heure . et qu'il pint an hasard. 

L* 1696 is again a type we have fund before: 

Pour cee Justes devoirs je ne veux one oeroaln . 

Here the author brings in the idea of a longer time, but ends 
the play before the actions which are to take place on the 
following d8y. This is a negative way in which to remind the 
audience that all actions performed or narrated throughout 
the tragedy have occurred in but one day. This vista of 
"Domain" is left open from now on, and raenti n of it is made 
twice again, in 1. 1764, by Compile, and in 1. 1808 by C^sar. 
As in the Cld the play was ended with the thought: 

Prends un an, si tu veux- 

so here also, the author leaves with the audience a broader 
time limit than was allowed for the action of the play. 

In Pomp^e . Corneille has shown the seme conscious study 
of the technique of Time as we have seen in the three previous 
plays. We have said that is was not as perfeot here as in 
Cinna, for example, since more external action is necessary 
for the understanding of the plot. It is not probable, i.e., 
not universal or typical, that so many incidents of serious 
importance should occur in one day. 

As for Plaoe, Corneille gives the following indication 











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181 


at the loginning: "Xa scene st en Aleatandrie, dans le 
palais de Ptolomee". This is the regular ’palais a volonte’ 
and gives rise to the s*me impro'rabilities which we have met 
elsewhere: the first act fits perfectly into the one-room 
setting, hut beginning with the second act, it becomes appar¬ 
ent that Clecpatre would not speak her confidences to Charmion 
in th t same room. It is, however, if not probable, at least 
possible. Cleopatra is represented as awaiting the first re¬ 
ception of C&sar in her own apartments, which would have necess¬ 
itated a change of scene, but Corneille has deftly avoided 
this, by narrating this meeting. On the whole, we may eay, 
not only that Corneille handled well the Unity of Place in 
this play, but that the nature of the plot permitted such treat¬ 
ment. Corneille was successful with the Unities only when 
his subject made it possible, which was not true for most of 
his plots. 

We have now seen, in discussing the several topics that 
Verisimilitude is, and is not, observed. Corneille changed 
the facts of history. Loth for the plot and for the characters. 
Yet, in so far as he maintained the general framework of the 
story, he complied with Aristotelian requirements. There is 
nothing in the action itself which would shock the historical 
sense of an audience. The characters are not historical nor 
are they poetically true, for they lack the fatal weakness 
which vfruld have made them human. Corneille was forced to 
this ’denouement* by history, for he w*s not free to have either 
Caesar or Cleopatra killed, since the audience was too well 




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182 

acquainted with their etory. Once again, it is a case of 
choosing a subject impossible of Aristotelian treatment. 
Corneille’s conception of tragedy, which to his mind was 
rather what we should term drama, demanded situations and 
characters which were in direct opposition to Aristotle’s 
doctrine. This will become increasingly apparent in the 
succeeding chapters. 



CHA PTKH X - RODOGUKS 


Rod offline , which appeared in 1644 or 1645, is the most 
important piny in the later manner of Corneille, and is the 
tragedy which he himself preferred to all those which modern 
criticism has considered to he his masterpieces. This tragedy 
was probably first presented on the stage of the Hotel de 
Bourgogne; it immediately eclipsed the play of the same name 
by Gilbert.(1) It is significant also that Pruneti^tre, in 
his Rpooues du Th^^tre Franceis . devotes one lecture to 
Rodogune . which he chose in preference to any other of the 
later olays for a number of reasons stated at the outset of 
his discussion. In addition to the fact that Corneille him¬ 
self ranged this tragedy atove all hie others, there is the 
added fact of its great popularity during the very period 
when Racine's glory was the highest^) Also, as has been re¬ 
called by Prunetiere, and by Professor Ritze, (5) Lessing, a 
century later, directed his attack on the French stage against 
Rodogune in particular. 

1. Cf. Marty-Laveaux, IY, 599 ff. A 

2. ITT. Prunetl^re, Roooues du Theatre franca is , p. 58. 

3. Fitze, W. A. and Pargan, E.' P. , A History of French 
literature , Wew York, 1922. 



















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184 


But a more important reason still for devoting a 
long study to Rodogune is the fact that it is the most com¬ 
plete, the most perfect expression of the truly Cornelian 
tragedy; by its complicated plot, ty the exaggerated fixity 
and almost rigidity of its characters, and by its eloquent 
▼erse, Rodogune exemplifies well all that Corneille prized 
most in his dramatic genius. Yet, from the Aristotelian 
point of view, the study of Rodogune will be entirely nega¬ 
tive. We have seen how Corneille’s natural tendencies in plot 
and character were divergent from the Aristotelian model, and 
in Rodogune we shall find the new Cornelian model at its lest. 
Some of the later plays will be constructed on the same plan, 
but none is so perfect a specimen as Rodogune . 

The situation presented in this play is as follows: Two 
princes, twin brothers, Antiochus and Seleucus, are plaoed 
between two women, Rodogune, a Parthian princess, and Cleopatra, 
queen of Syria. Rodogune is beloved by both princes. Their 
moiher, Cleopatra, is, in addition, the murderer of their 
father. Fern a few minutes apart, and br ught up away from 
the c urt, the princes do not know which of them is the heir 
to the throne. At the opening of the action it is agreed 
that Rodogune and the throne of Syria will go to the elder of 
the two princes. Cleopatra alone knows which of the eons is 
the elder, but this barbarous mother, unwilling to renounce 
the throne herself, conceives the idea of bestowing the birth¬ 
right upon whichever son will rid her of the odious Rodogune 
by assassinating her. Rodogune, in turn, demands the assassi- 











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nation ol Cleopatra as a condition of her consent to marry 
either of the princes. Such is the plot of this tragedy, 
which Prunetiere calls "l f un des pins dramatiques aeaurement 
on’il y ait, si toutefois l’atrocite des eituotions eat la 
mesure de la fceaute d*un drame".(l) That is indeed a ques¬ 
tion not easy to solve, and which we fortunately need not eeeJc 
to answer here. 

If we analyze the action of this tragedy, we see at 
once that it is .ore unified, more artfully constructed, more 
closely t und together, than any of the other tragedies up 
to this time. Only the four characters are needed, with their 
respective ’confidents*, and the action is wholly resultant 
upon the interplay of these characters. In this respect, 
Corneille has approached iiore closely the technioue of Racine 
than in any other of his plays, Voth as regards the construc¬ 
tion of the plot, and the sulJect itself, in which the love 
element is intimately connected with the fate of an Empire.(2) 
Yet Corneille is still far from the Racinicn manner in his 
use of history. In Rodogune . quite as much as in Polyeucte . 
Corneille needed the support of history to defend his extra¬ 
ordinary action, whereas in Andrornaoue or I ere nice the mere 
changing of the historical names w uld suffice to maite these 
two plots the ordinary experiences of everyday psychology. 
Corneille will never lose hie fondness for the extraordinary 
in plot and character—rather, we shall see th t it will \e 

1. Cf. hpoquos du Theatre Frangale . p. 62. 

2. Cf. Anuromaoue or :^r7nice . 












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186 

accentuated beyond bounds in the later tragedies, which are 
truly ’coatedieB heroiques* if not actually melodramas* 

In Rodogune Corneille has presented an historical sub¬ 
ject, but one which is only historical. That is to say, 
while in Forace the subject had the broader aspect of Patrio¬ 
tism, and in Clnna . of Insurrection, in Rodogune there is 
no general appeal, it is the story of an individual case* 

And for that very reason, as Prunetiere has pointed out (1), 

Rodogune loses much of its interest* The subject is "extra¬ 
ordinaire" and "aujdela du vraieemtlable" and therefore not 
Aristotelian. Neither the plot nor the characters of Rodogune 
are psychologically true or universal* Thus we have reached 
with Rodogune the point at which Corneille has freed himself 
utterly of all Aristotelian qualities, except as they are 
dramatic necessities which no writer could disregard* It is 
in connection with this play that we are made most clearly 
aware of the fundamental opposition between the dramatic 
doctrines of Aristotle and those of Corneille. Rodogune pleased 
Corneille because of the invincible strength o Mil displayed 
in it, which is eoactly the lament. condemned by Aristotle. 

Those features of the play wtich are s*ill Aristotelian, are 
the semi-tragic ’denouement*, whert at least the heroins and 
one son meet death; and the masterful way in which the dramatic 
interest is sustained from act to act until the fearful end. 

Let us now trace the development of this complicated 
plot through its own verses. The opening line sounds the note 
X. appoues du Tneatre Fra.-^ols . P* 74* 














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187 


of illustriousnees, which is to be maintained throughout: 

£nfin f ce Jour pompeux, cet heureux Jour nou8 luit, 
Qui d'un trouble si long doit diesier la nuit. 

And in this first speech, Lsonice sets forth the situation: 

the Cueen is to announce which of the Princes is the elder; 

and all discord with the Parthians is to cease, for Hodogune 

their princess is to marry the Prince who is to rule in Syria. 

Antiochus, one of the Princes, offers to cede any claims 

to the throne If Seleucue will grant him Hodogune, iut this 

arrangement is thwarted, for S^leucus has conceived the same 

ides, and the situation is left as at the beginning. Tut 

the two brothers swear eternal friendship for each other, 

which is of importance to the later development of the plot. 

(11. 169, 170): 

II faut eaccr plus faire: il faut qu'en ce grand jour 
Ilotre amitie triomphe aussi lien que l'amour. 

Hodogune is now presented, and her first speech indicates 

her mistrust of the Queen (1. 299): 

Je ne so is quel malheur aujourd'hui me menace. 

Again in 1. 311: 

£n un mot, je craine tout de 1'esprit de la Heine. 

Her longer speech (11. 313-327), not only anticipates the 
action, but also presents the Cueen as we are to see her in 
Act II: 


La haine entre lea grands se cal me rarement: 

La paix souvent n'y sort que d'un amusement; 

St dans l'Ktat, oi> J'entre, a te parlcr sans feinte, 
Kile s lieu de me craindre, et je oraina oette 
erainto. 


J'ouclie, et pleinement, t ute trton aventure; 
Hals une grande offense est de cett© nature. 





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Cue toujours son auteur impute a 1*offeast, 

Un vif ressentiment dont 11 2e croit Hesse; 
j^t quoiqu'en aoperence on lee r&concilie, 

II le craint, 11 le halt, et Jemals ne s'y fie; 

Et toujours slarmi oe eette Illusion, 

Sitot qu'il pent le perdre, 11 prend 1*occasion: 

Telle est pour raoi la Heine.- 

Corneille gives us this picture here ieoauso Cleopatra her¬ 
self is not to appear in the first Act, and Corneille's theory 
is that all the principal actors should either appear or he 
mentioned, and all necessary explanation of the situation given 
in the first act. 

We are now prepared for the balanced attitude of Hodogune 
toward the two Princes ly her command of her passion (11. 

375 ff.): 


De celui que Je craine si Je suis le partags, 

Je s&urai 1*accepter avec meme visage; 

L'hymen me le ren ra precieux k son tour, 

Et le devoir fers ce qu'aurait fait I'amour. 

As we should e>pect, the first speech of Cleopatra, 

which opens the second act, shows her character Immediately 

(11. 395 ff.): 

Serments fnllacieux, saints ire contrainte, 

Que m* impose la force et ou’accepts ma crainte, 
Heureux deguiseimnts d'un immortel c urroumi 

Je hais, Je regne encor. Laissone d’illustres 
marques 

in quittant, s'il le faut, ce haut rang des 
monarques. 

C'est encor, e'est encor eette meme ennemie 
Qui ch rchoit see honneurs dans mon iniamie, 

Pont la haine h son t:ur croit me fair© la loi, 

Et regner par mon ordre sur vous et sur moi. 

Xu a'eotimes lien lache, imprudent© rivals. 

Si tu crois que mon coeur Jusque-la se ravale, 
Cu'il souffre qu'un hymen qu'on t'a prowls en vain 
Te me tie ta vengeance et mon sceptre en ta main. 










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189 


The parallelism of structure is perfect; just as the two 
brothers made identical offers of ceding the throne for 
Rodogune, so now Cleopatra and Rodogune are set against each 
other, each looking forward to the same deed, the one to 
punish, the other to suffer* The plnn of vengeance is now 
revealed to Laonice, and introduced ly 1. 439: 

Si Je cache en Quel rng le oiel lee a fait 

nai tre, 

Vois, rois que tant v oue l'ordre en demeure douteux, 
Aucun des deux ne regne, et je rfegne pour eux f 

Yolla mon secret. 

The Cueen * a every act in the past, and every project for 
the future, is taped on this all-consum ng passion to reign* 
Cf* 11. 463 if.: 

Je te dirai tien plus: s^ns violence aucune 
J'aurois vu Mcanor ^pouser Rodogune, 

Si content de lui IMre et de me d^daigner, 

II eut vecu enez elle en me laissant regner. 


Je fis teaucoup alors, et je ferois encor plus 
S'il etalt aueloue voie, infame ou legitime, 

Que m'enseignat la gloire, ou que m’ouvrit le crime, 
C;ui me pfct c.nserver un tien que J'si ch4ri 
JuBqu'k verser pour lui t ut le sang d’uu mari. 

And the final element in her unwillingness to Quit the throne, 

is her hatred of Rodogune, for whom Meaner, Cleopatra’s hue- 

land, had deserted her. 11. 479,480: 

L* amour que j'ai pour toi (1) tourne en haine 
pour elle: 

Autant que l'un fut grand, 1'autre sera cruelle. 

And again in 11. 486, 486: 

Quoi? Je ferois un roi pour etre son epouy, 
j£t ra*exposer eux traits de son Juste courrouxl 

Her plan of action is then definitely announced here in the 

second act, scenes 2 and 3. Cf* 11. 493 ff.: 


1. The throne. 

















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190 


$© saurois-tu j^ger que si je nomme un rol, 

C'est pour le commander, ©t. comlattre pour moi? 
J*en ai le choix en mein nvec 1© droit d'atnesse; 


J*userai bien du droit cue J f a.l de le no miner* 

On n© montera point au r«ng dont je d^vale, 

Cm 1 en ^pouesnt me heine aw lieu de me rival©: 

Ce n'eet qu'en me vengeant qu*on me le pent ravir, 
St 3e feral regner oui me voudra servir. 

Also 11* 644, 646: 

Smlraeser ma querelle eat le seul dtroit d'atneaee: 

La mort de Rodogune ©n nommera l’alne* 

When Rodogune is told of this menace, Oronte, her 

brother*s ambassador, urges her to profit by the love of the 

two Princes for her (11. 831-836): 

L'Amour fera lui seul tout ce qu*il vous faut faire* 
Fsites-vous un rempart des fils centre la m&re; 


Cuol que puisse en ces lieux une reine cruelle, 
Pouvant tout sur see fils, voue y pouve# plus qu*elle 

Upon thejappearance of the two Princes before Rodogune, Antio- 
chus requests the future Cueen to choose between the Princes, 
and the one of her choice will seize the kingdom as his right¬ 
ful heritage. Rodogune now states her condition (11. 1024 ff.) 

J'alme les fils du Roi, &ais ceux de la Reine: 
R^glez-vous la-dessus; et sane plus me presser, 

Voyez auquel dee deux voue vulez renoncer. 

Si vous leur (1) pr/f^rez une mer^ cruelle, 

Soyez cruelfe, ingrats, parricides co me elle. 

Vous devez la punir, si vous la condamnez; 

Voue devez l'imiter, si vous la soutenez. 

She restates this in 11. 3044, 1046: 

pour gapner Rodogune il faut venger un pere. 

Again the symmetry is perfect, for both Cleopatra and 
Rodogune have made their, propositions, neither of which is 


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191 


acceptable to the Princes. It would seem an impasse tut 

that Antiochus hopes to conquer either Cleopatra or Rodogune 

emotionally. £f. 11. 1128-1120: 

Cependant allons voir si nous vaincrons l'orage, 
ht si contre 1*effort d’un si puissant c urroux 
La nature et 1*amour voudront psrler pour nous. 

Thus at the opening of the fourth act, the 'noeud' is 
tied as ti htly as possible, and there is no hint as to the 
'denouement' that awaits us. The first step in the untang¬ 
ling is when Antiochus wrests from Rodogune the avowal of 
her love for him (11. 1209, 1210); 

Oui, J'aime un de vcus deu>. malgre ce grand courroux, 
iit ce dernier 9oupir dit assez que c'est vous. 

Given new courage by these words, Antiochus now braves the 

Queen and hopes to tend her Will (11. 1267, 1258): 

Void la Heine, Amour, nature* Justes Dieux, 
Faites-la-moi fWchir ou mourir A see yeux. 

The plot takes a surprising turn in 11. 1351 ff., when 

Cleopatra seems to ie moved ty maternal affection: 

Vos lames dans men eoeur out trop d'intelligence; 

Je sens que Je suis mere aupres de vos douleurs. 

C'en est fait^ Je me rends, et ma colere expire; 
Rodogune est a vous aussi lien que 1'empire. 

Hendez graces aux Dieux qul vous ont fait l'alnej 
Possedez-la, regnez. 

But this is almost immediately Explained for the reader by 

the monologue of Cleopatra which begins (11. 1387-1403): 

Que tu p^netres mal le fond de ,»on courage! 

Si Je verse d s pleure, ce sent des pleurs de rage. 

As she addresses in thought her son Antiochus, she says: 

Va, triomphe en idee avec £* Rodogune, 

Au sort dee immortels prefer© ta fortune, 

Tandis que mieux instruite cn l'art de me venger. 






192 


£n de nouveaux m^lheurs je saurai te plonger. 

c’eet mal d4m&ler le cocxir d’avec le front, 

Que prendre pour sincere un changement el prompt. 

" te fera voir comma Je suis changee. 

The next complication 6f plot which Corneille has devised 

wsb an attempt on Cleopatra’s part to incite h^leucue 

against his brother, ty telling him that he woe really the 

elder of the two. Cleopatra is quite incapalle of compre- 

'ending the friendship which ?£lcu.cus attests as a safeguard 

against any harsh feeling towards Antiochus. Cf. 11. 1472- 

1476: 

—-msie enfin n’esperez voir en moi 

Qu’amiti^ pour mon frere, et zele pour mon roi. 

Adieu. 

(Cl£o.) Pe quel malheur Euis-jc encore espstle? 
leur amour m'offcnsolt, leur amitie m’accatl . 

The situation does not long taffle Cleopatra, for Corneille 
has conceived the lest crime poaeille to his ’heroine of the 
Will’: to kill loth her eons. Since she cannot avenge her¬ 
self through them, she will a enge herself upon them. (11. 

1486 ff.): 

Je sale lien qu’en 1’etat ou tcue deux jc lee voi, 

II me lee faut percer pour aller ;jusqu’£ toi; 
i!ais n* imports: mee mains sur le p&rc enhardieB 
Pour un Iras refuse sauront prendre deiix vies; 

J’al commence par lui, 3’acfckverai par eux. 

Thus ends this fourth act, so luxuriant in plot and compli¬ 
cations, and all the result of the most intense interplay of 
the rational acuities of the characters represented. 

Act V is opened iy a monologue of Cleopatra who announces 
the death of Sel^ucus. This least important character is now 
disposed of, and the stage is left clear for the intensely 






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193 


dramatic situation of this last act, between the three 
principal characters: Cleopatra, Eodogune, and Antiochua. 
This monologue now reveals the whole plan of Cleopatra: 
to kill both Antiochue and Eodogune, with the one motive 
of reteininf the throne for herself. (11. 1607; 1612-1614; 
1528-1629): 


Poison, me sauras-tu rendre mon diadem*? 


Je no veux point pour file l’epoux de Eodogune, 
Et ne vole plus en lui lea restes de mon sang. 

S 1 il m'arrache du tr6ne et la met en mon rang. 

le ciel eg&ler le supplice & 1*offense 
Trone, a t’atondonner je ne puis consentir. 

But Corneille has reserved one more reversal of fortune for 

this last act. Just as Antiochue is about to drink from 

the fatal goblet, Timagene enters and tells of the death of 

Seleucue. The dramatic importance of this is that he had 

died without finishing the accusation of his assassin. (11. 

1643 ff.): 


"Une main qui nous fut bien chere 

Venge ainsi le refus d’un coup trop inhumain. 

Eegnez, et surtout, mon cher fr&re, 

Gardez-veus de la meme main. 

"C'est..." La Parque a ce mot lui coupe la 

parole. 

It is the purest melodrama to thus break the sentence just 
as the fatal name was to le epoekn, and this is what arouses 
the objections of the critics. Antiochue is new suspicious 
of both Cleopatra and Eodogune, and in the impossibility of 
avoiding or averting the imminent danger, he again prepares 
to drink the fateful draught, when Eodogune stops him, sus¬ 
picious in her turn. Irlast effort to gain her victory. 
















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194 


Cleopatra challenges the lovers by first drinking from the 
cnp herself* But the poison takes effect too prom tly, and 
Antiochue and Rcdogune sue present at her death agonies. 
This criminal heroine still claims a certain victory, 11. 
1815, 1816s 


Mais j'ai cette douceur dedans cette disgrace 
Pe ne voir point regner ma rivale en ma place. 

This couplet was followed in the first edition, by eight 
verses which resumed all of Cleopatra's machinations to 
retain the throne. (1) The ending was melodramatic, and ad¬ 
apted to the popular tastes, and the whole action is epitom¬ 
ized in 1. 1836: 

La coupable est punie et vos mains innocentes. 

This is a type of 'denouement* condemned by Aristotle, in 
which the wicked are punished and the good rewarded, to the 
great delight of the populace. Yet, if we reflect that Cleo¬ 
patra was not so much a wicked figure in Corneille's mind, as 
the perfect emtodlament of his great ideal, the Human Will, 
we must consider that the 'heroine' of this tragedy came in¬ 
deed to a tragic end, which would make the 'denouement* 
thoroughly Aristotelian. We must remember as was said in our 
discussion of M^dee , that 'goodness' to Corneille, was not a 
moral quality, (2) but resolved itself into a new quality which 
he terms 'grandeur d'ame'. 

The very number of quotations which we have given here to 

1. Cf. Marty-Laver- *% . TV , p- — A ttote 2. 

2. Cf. supra, Ch.BZ^ p-7A. 

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195 


develop the plot* showe clearly its extreme complication, which 
was the pride of Corneille. In the Eramen he saySS eette 

tregedie me sernble £tre un pen pine a moi que celles qui l'ont 
precede©, a cnuee dee incident surprenants qui eont purement 

de mon invention. n . It ie the "ingegnc a trcvare" of Cast- 

elvetro, the M difficulte vaincue", in Corneille’s terminology. 

Up to Hodo^une . Corneille had made a very real and conscious 
effort to fulfill Aristotelian requirements, tut in this tragedy, 
so truly his own, we find him entirely under the inspiration of 
his more natural guide, Cestelvetro. (1) Even now, however, we 
shall find that Corneille continues his careful observation of 
the Unities. 

After this detailed discussion of the plot, we may speak 
of the characters more briefly. The relation between the action, 
which is psyfehological, and the characters, ie so close that in 
tracing the one we iaave necessarily presented the salient features 
of the second. Despite the name ’ Rodcgune ; the chief protagonist 
of the tragedy is very obviously Cleopatra. Corneille explains 
why he chose Rodogune rather than Cleopatra for the title of the 
play (2): he sought to avoid confusion with the famous Cleopatra 
of Egypt. The character of this ambitious, unscrupulous mother, 
is one of Corneille’s most powerful portrayals of the Human Will, 
exerted this time in criminal directions, yet none the less 
admirable for its very strength. 

Corneille makes it perfectly clear that he intends for us to 

1. Cf. supra , Ch. II, p. 3c5L * 

2. (57. Avertissenent to Hod Prune. 








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196 


admire wleopatra. In the first act, Laonice disposes the 
reader somewhat in favor of the Queen, by softening the 
narration of Cleopatra’s hasty marriage with her husband’s 
brother, and again by putting a "dit-en" in the accusation of 
murder (11. 267, 268; 266); 

i£t changeant k regret son amour cn horreur, 

211e abandonne tout a ea juete fureur. 

Le Roi meurt, et, dit-on, par la main de la Heine; 

The second act cannot but change any kindly emotions we might 
have admitted for Cleopatra, yet we are struck with awe, con¬ 
stantly increased during the succeeding acts, at this tremen¬ 
dous force of Will. Cleopatra is the perfected Medea of the 
earlier period. (1) rven more completely than Medea, who is 
carried away at the end of that tragedy by a Peus ex Hachina . 
Cleopatra represents the wreck of a sublime will-power misdir¬ 
ected. T is later depiction of the criminal Will also gains from 
the fact that it stands out against a more psychological back¬ 
ground without so much external action and mechanism as in M^dee . 
Just as we found that Aristotle reduced the story of Medea to a 
second or third rate rank among tragic theses, so, for the same 
reasons, Cleopatra would be rejected from the perfect tragedy. The 
only Aristotelian element in this character is the tragic end to 
which she comes. 

Bodogune is a rather coloTiese figure next to Cleopatra, nor 
is she Aristctelain, for she lacks the required hamartia. Although 
1. Cf. supra , Ch. IV,f>p.^7/f* 








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197 


she threatens the life of Cleopatra, we are made conscious all 

al ng that she has no real Intention of pursuing her threat to 

It8 accomplishment. Corneille has worked out this scene very 

carefully, to preserve Rodogune from the accusation of unnatural 

hatred. Compare such lines as 996 ff.: 

Ce coeur vous eat acquis a pres le diad&me. 

Princes: male gardez-vous de le rendre k lui-meme. 

Vous y renoncerez peut-etre pour jamais, 

Quand je vous aural dit a quel prix je le mets. 

And again, 11. 101S, 1014: 

Mais quand j’aurai parie, si vcue vous en plaignez, 
J'atteste tous lee Pieux que vous m’y contraignez. 

It would have been out of character for Rodogune to have persist¬ 
ed in the killing of Cleopatra, and Corneille avoided such error. 
II. 1220 ff. reassures us entirely: 

Votre refue est juste autant que ma demande: 

£e voudrais vous hatr s’il (1) m’avoit otei; 

je n’estime pas I’honneur d’une vengeance 
Jusqu'a vouloir d'un crime etre la recompense. 

To have made of Rodogune also an ambitious aspirant to the throne 
would have injured the symmetry of the characters: it was nec¬ 
essary for Rodogune to he pliable and less strong-willed than her 
terrible enemy* 

Antlochus and S^leucus both lack any very dramatic qualities- 
they are so manifestly secondary characters. They merely furnish 
the necessary foils to Cleopatra’s machinations. They retain, 
however, the rational elements of the Cornelian characters. We are 
reminded of the stoicism of Curiace when we read these lines of 


1. Votre amour. 




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198 


Seleucus (XX. 202 ff•): 

Je le roudrai du moins, mon frere, et c’est assez; 

Kt ms raison sur mol gardera tant d*empire. 

Qtxe je deeavouerei mon coeur 8*11 en eoupire. 

It ie significant also that a comparison with Curiace should 
suggest itself, for we saw in our Study of Horace . that Curiace 
was only a secondary character: similarly Seleucus in Hod prune . 
Antiochus is somewhat more developed in the play, although in 
reality he is hut a tool by which certain psychological reactions 
are provoked in Hodogune and Cleopatra. (Cf. Act IV, sc. 1, 1. 

1210; IV, 2. 11. 1264-1268)• It is not until Act IV that Antio¬ 
chus ip definitely made more important than Seleucus, and before 
the opening of Act V, Seleucus has been killed, and the field is 
left to Antiochus, who has the last words of the tragedy. There 
is, however, nothing of the CorneJLlian hero in Antiochus; the 
•hero* of the tragedy, so to speak, is Cleopatra. 

It will not be necessary to discuss Katharsis in connection 
with Hodogune , for in our section on Plot, we have already in¬ 
dicated that it was of the usual type, arousing not Pity or Fear, 
but Admiration. It is indeed natural that this play which was so 
peculiarly Corneille’s own, should exemplify to a very high degree, 
his theory of Admiration. 

Nor will it be necessary to devote many words to the Unities. 
It is perhaps surprising that in this tragedy Corneille has still 
the same deference fot the Unity of Time. The very first line 
repeats twice the ’ce jour* idea, which is echoed in a variety of 
expressions (ce grand jour, ce soir, cet heureux jour, le mdme 
jour, etc.) throughout the tragedy. Towards the close of the play. 









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199 


Corneille hastens the action in two places (11. 1494, 1496): 

Solvent qui tarde trop ee laiese prevenir. 

Allons chercher le temps d’immoler mes vie times. 

And 11. 1596, 1697: 

Le temps press©, ... 

Madame, batons done cee glorieux moments: 

But in Loth cases these mentions of time are psychologically 
apt at the moment and have no flavor of a reminder to the 
put lie that the play is "within the rules". Because of the ex¬ 
treme compilation of plot, Corneille nay have deemed it expedi¬ 
ent to protect himstIf thoroughly on the side of the Unity of 
Time. And on the other hand, it may Ye sailTwI thTall jns tice).to 
Corneille’s romanesque tendencies which might have led him direct¬ 
ly hack to the Cld . 

The Unity of Place is the conventional ’palais royal* of 
which sufficient has teen said in the preceding chapters. 

The Unity cf Action is excellent,as has been hinted in our 
comments on Plot, for the subject is more psychological than in 
any other of his plays, not ocepting Polyeucte , and there are no 
episodes ncr episodic characters in the background. 

In Hodogune we have found the exemplification of Corneille’s 
theory of Verisimilitude, expressed a few years later in the Au 
Lee ter r o f He radius; "le sujet d'une belle tragedle doit n’etre 
pas vraisemt lair le" • (1) Bodogune is the first play in which 
Corneille took a little-known plot from the old historical chron¬ 
icles and shaped it to suit the requirements of Tragedy according 
to his own theories. We have but to read the Avertlssement to 
1. Cf. infra. Ch. EH. P 












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200 


the play, to see the changes Corneille permitted himself as 
regards the historical facts. In history, Pemetrius, the first 
husband of Cleopatra, actually married Bodogune, but still mind¬ 
ful perhaps of the accusation brought against Chimene, Corneille 
portrayed it as only a projected marriage, so that the two sons 
might more fittingly aspire to the hand of the Princess. Like¬ 
wise, in history, Cleopatra married Antiochus out of spite; Cor¬ 
neille made it a matter of necessity because of her reduced 
military strength. And there follows in the Avertiesement a long 
list of the other changes, some important, others minor, ending 
in the denouement* itself, which Corneille modified to the ex¬ 
tent of haring Cleopatra drink the poison of her own accord, 
rather than having Antiochus guilty of the murder of his own mother. 

Yet all these changes might be accepted, since the story 
is so little known, and the general framework is ©reserved, which 
is Aristotle*s sole requirement, ^ut the lack of Verisimilitude 
is particularly noticeable in connection with the characters. 
Bodogune is par excellence the play to which lemaitre's comment on 
Pomps e would apply; the characters are indeed "simplifies k 
outrance et figes dans une seule attitude unique." Cleopatra is 
the incarnation of Ambition. The other characters seem colorless 
for the very reasop that their psychology is not rounded out. 
Hodogune herself is merely the weak toy of royal dissensions. The 
two Princes are shewn only as lovers cf Bodogune; they do not seek 
for thoir father's death, nor do they make any effort to 


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gain the throne, Whereas, in the plot, the action is largely 
psychological, in the characters, psychology is utterly sacri¬ 
ficed to the abstraction. Rcdogune is the tragedy of Ambition, 
ss Horace was the tragedy of Patriotism, and Cinna of ISagnaminity. 
The characters necesearily lose any true resemblance to life, 
any universality, any possible Verisimilitude. 

Hodogune fite perfectly between ?omp<£e and H^raclius , As we 
saw in a preceding chapter, ?ompee already reintroduced the roman- 
esque plot, and characters lacking in psychology; Rodogune is far 
superior tc Pompee in that the action, though eminently romanesque, 
is psychological, and can thus he handled within the bounds set 
for tragedy. After Rodogune . we shall find in Heracliua the most 
complicated of all the plots Corneille * invented*, and which re¬ 
minds one of his earlic: t manner, in Clitandre . VUth Rodogune we 
have definitely reached the turning-point in Corneille’s dramatic 
method. History had first helped him to eliminate the romanesque, 
the tragi-ccmie, from Tragedy $Ho trcc, C Inna ): now, by seeking 
out the unknown, extraordinary plots offered by history, Corneille 
brought back that very romanesque which it had been his greatest 
honor to banish from tragedy. So Heraclius . Pen Sanehe . Pertharlte . 
present sll the worst excesses of the romaneeque plot and un- 
psychological characters. 





















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202 


CHAPTi^K XI - THa0?03£ 

In 1645, nearly three years after Polyeucte . Corneille 
again presented a tragedy based upon a martyrdom, this time 
of a woman. (1) Contrary to the fortunes of Polyeucte . which 
we hare considered to he the most perfect of Corneille's 
tragedies, Theodore was a complete failure. Corneille himself 
says at the outset of the I pltre : "la representation de cette 
tragedie n’a pas eu grand eclat...." This failure was attribut¬ 
ed in large part to the idea of prostitution wr.ich was the 
threat constantly held before Theodore throughout the play. Of 
this attitude of the pullie, Corneille says in the £pftre : "et 
oertee il y a de <?uci congratuler a la purete de notre theatre, 
de voir qu’une hiEtoire qui fait le plus tel ornament du second 
livre dee Yierree d e saint Ambroiee, se treuve trop liceacieuse 
pour y etre supportee." 

But the failure of Theodore cn the stage ass net wholly due 
to its subject. Corneille had comlined in this tragedy two 
historical legends, entirely distinct. Toth came from the Lives 
of the Saints; the one may have been suggested to Corneille, along 
with that of Polyeucte , in the Italian tragedies of Bartolommei, 
and the other had already teen used in the obscure Sainte Agnes of 
the eieur d'Aves. It was in this latter play that Corneille 
found the characters of Uarcelle, Placide, and Flavie, who taice 
1. Cf. supre , Ch. VII^, pfootnote & • 



















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203 


so important a role in Theodore . The results of this fusion of 
different elements in the plot were most unfortunate: the role 
of Theodore herself was necessarily lessened* and Didyme is 
relegated entirely to the last acts of the play, except for two 
or three furtive remarks which may he considered as anticipatory 
of his role. The love intrigue and the rivalry of Placide and 
Didyme, which alone would have justified comlining these two 
plots, and which would have intrcdtsced a truly dramatic element 
into the play, are entirely lost sight of. Since Corneille saw 
in Theodore and Didyme the principal characters, (as the title 
would indicate), it must he admitted that the roles of liarcelle 
and Placidc are over-developed. This necessarily harms the unity 
of action, a criticism which Corneille evidently anticipated, for 
he endeavored, not over skilfully, and not with grent success, to 
foreshadow the role of Didyme. Compare 11. 93, 94: 

Sans doute die (Theodore) aiae ailleurs, et s’im- 
, / pute a benheur 

Pe preferer Didyme au fils du gouverneur. 

It Is perhaps significant that in this first mention of Didyme, he 
is given preference over Placiae. Although reoeated again in 1. 
388, by Theodore herself: 

J’honorerois Placide, et j'afcnercis Didyme, 
this predominance Is n t made clear in the action until the end of 
Act IV. Line 438 is an evident reference to Didyme: 

J'en trouverai peut-etre un plus puissant que lui; 
but it is really equivocal, for Corneille would have it appear 
that Theodore is thinking of divine aid, and yet the audience is to 






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204 


understand it in a more material sense. The sane thing is done 
also in 11. 946 tt .: 

Vou# (1) n'etee pas eelui dont Pieu veut s’y servir: 
II saura bien sens voi^s en susciter un autre, 

Pont le bras moins puissant, aais plus saint que le 
v vStre, 

Par un zele plus our se fere men appui, 

Sans porter see desire eur un bien tout k lui. 

Yet here again it is not clear that Theodore has in mind Pidyme. 
This i8, in fact, very improbable, ana Corneille has interposed 
his own Knowledge cf later action, at a point when hie characters 
are still unaware cf their future fate. Whether or net we con¬ 
sider that Corneille may have inserted such passages after the 
first writing of the play, it is certain that they were inspired 
only after he had the details of his plot clearly in mind. But 
these sparse and hidden references to the role are in nowise 
sufficient to prepare us for the magnanimous action of Pidyme in 
saving Theodore. Placide’s imminent death interests us quite as 
much as the martyrdom of Pidyme. So that Corneille’s error in 
Theodore was double, as Heuvette has stated (2), first in choosing 
this subject for a tragedy, and second, in not having held to the 
subject once he had chosen it. If we seek to answer the obvious 
question why Corneille combined these two legends, we may find it 
in the character cf Theodore: Corneille may have recognized that 
this heroine was not dramatic, and had no tragic quality, no 
tragic weakness. This character pleased Corneille, for it gave 
him an excellent opportunity to present again a tragedy in which 

1. Placide. 

2. Loc. cit. p. 669. 







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Admiration was the chief element. Put unlike Polyeucte, Theodore 
has no human attachments, and therefore no struggle to make in 
accepting martyrdom. Therefore Corneille developed the more 
dra atic Marceile and created the rol e of Placide. Both these 
characters are portrayed carefully throughout the tragedy, to 
the detriment, as we have said, of the real chief protagonists, 
Theodore and Didyme. 

From the structural point of view, Theodore presents much 
that is of interest to ue. The plot is developed skilfully, and 
the suspense is maintained, through a long series of reversals 
of fortune, to the very end of the tragedy, and even beyond, we 
might say, for Placide*s death is only imminent and not an 
accomplished fact at the end of the play. The 'denouement* is 
the most Aristotelian of any of the tragedies we have studied, 
for of the principal characters two were murdered (Theodore and 
Didyme) and the two stronger ones commit suicide (Marceile and 
Placide). 

There is howcvt r one pcipt of plot which we must consider: 
is there a double peril? After Didyme had enabled Theodore to 
escape, there was no external necessity for her to deliver her¬ 
self up again to Marceile. Can we say, as for Horace, that 
there was an internal, psychological necessity, which drove Theo¬ 
dore to martyrdom? I think we can, for Theodore had no longing 
for life, and death held no terrors for her. Martyrdom was the 
only psychological ending for unhuman character. There was 







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206 


also a dramatic necessity which justified this return: a 
drama is not ended until each of the main characters is 
brought to a state which has an air of permanency* Theodore 
could not wander indefinitely, and the audience should be 
given a more satisfactory termination of her trials. The 
fact of the historical nature of this ’denouement* cannot be 
adduced in its justification, for the same objection would be 
made as in the Old : if the historical ending cannot be held to, 
in conformity with the rules of dramatic art, the subject should 
not be admitted to Tragedy. This objection has already been pre¬ 
ferred ©gainst Theodore on other grounds, but it does not appear 
that the ’denouement* should be rejected. 

The plot of Theodore ie truly Aristotelian, in its develop¬ 
ment and in its outcome. But the characters are not. Theodore 
is a saint, a martyr, therefore perfect, and would be rejected 
from Tragedy by Aristotle just as Polyeucte would have been. 

She has no resemblance with human beings, and partakes of none 
of their joys or weaknesses. She ie indeed "une statue de marbre 
au geete iramotlle". (1) Didyme, likewise, 1s a faultless chara¬ 
cter, and if he saves Theodore from infamy, we have the feeling 
that he would have done the same for any Christian sister; his 
love for Theodore is not sufficiently developed to make it 
dramatically interesting. Placide is an abstraction, constant¬ 
ly wavering between his love for Theodore and his hatred for 
Marcelle. He never acts; he remains motionleee, bewildered, un- 

1* Jules Lemaltre in Petit de Julleville, TT let . de la langue et 
de la Iltt. Fr> IV, 304. 







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207 


til all hope is past and he then kills himself* His only 
vital connection with the action of the plot, is that it is 
hie love for Theodore which kindles Marcelle'e hatred against 
the Christian maiden* Alone, the character cf Marcelle is well 
portrayed, and prepared for the greater figure of Cleopatra in 
Hodornne * 

It would seem as though Corneille had neglected every 
opportunity for dramatic action in this tragedy. This was due 
to Corneille’s conception of hie subject: as in Polyeucte . he 
sought to portray the perfect character, and that alone. The 
fundamental error was thet Corneille relied too entirely on the 
power of Admiration, to carry an audience through anything, to 
the final martyrdom. The perfection of Theodore, and the lofty 
nobility of Didyme and cf Plaeide, were ever before his mind, 
and he too often neglected dramatic considerations. 

In spite of its close affinity with Polyeucte in subject, 

\p*C d— 4 

Theodore is far more akin to Pompee . its i mmed i a t e presence s oy.* 
The characters lack subtle psychology, and each reacts to but 
one stimulus. The action is becoming more complicated, the sub¬ 
ject less historical, and closer to the invented plot which we 
shall find in Don Sanche « Higal has stated the fate of Theodore 
succinctly but accurately when he writes (1): " Theodore a fait 
un© lourde chute eur le theatre et il faut l'avouer, cela n’etait 
que justice, car le sujet cn eet insupportable, beaucoup d*in¬ 
cidents en sont horribles, lee princlpaux persennages n’agissent 
point." And yet Jules Leraaftre writes: "...je demeure persuade, 
par ce que je sals du reste de son theatre, que, dans le moment 
qu’il ecrlvit Theodore , Corneille dut croire |u*i 1c rival t son_ 
1. De Jodelle a Moliere, p. 285. 


























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208 


chef d'oeuvre." This is entirely possible, for Corneille's own 
ideal of Tragedy, as he stated it a few years later, included the 
two elements which loomed largest in Theodore : a complicated, 
romanesque plot, and Admiration of character. These two elements 
were given greater development in his ne>.t play, Rodogune . which be¬ 
cause of its romanesque qualities and grandiose figures, always re¬ 
mained Corneille's favorite play in all his repertory. 









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210 


dire que c*est tin heureux original dont il s*est fait beaueoup 
de belles copies si tot qu'il a pan.’’ We have no means of k now- 
ing what copies Corneille had in mind, but it is dear that the 
reference was not to Calder6n*s play which appeared only some 
eleven or twelve years later. 

Heraclius met with reasonable success, but Corneille him¬ 
self makes the following admission, with his usual frankness: 

"J'ai Vu de fort bone eBprits, et des personnes des plus 
qualifies® de la cour, ee plaindre de ce que sa representation 
fatiguoit autant 1*esprit qu'une etude serieuse."(l) 

The Emperor Phocas had usurped the throne of Maurice 
whom he had slain, together (presumably), with all his children, 
save one daughter, Pulcherie. At the opening of the play, Phocas 
is troubled by a rumor that Heraclius, a son of Maurice, lives and 
is about to march against him, the usurper. This rumor proves to 
be true enough, but it takes the five acts of the drama to 
straighten matters out and restore the Empire to Heraclius. L^on- 
tine, the gouvernate of the children of the Emperor Maurice, had 
contrived to save Heraclius from the general slaughter, by 
sacrificing in his place her own son. To insure further the life 
of this precious survivor, Leontine made a second exchange, giving 
Heraclius to Phocas as his own son Martian, and keeping afartian as 
her son Leonce. It is through two revealing notes, the one left 
by the Emperor Maurice before his death, and the other by the Em- 


1, Cf. Examen. 











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211 

press Constantine, that the double exchange is finally disclosed. 
The usurper Phooas is hilled, thus leaving Heraclius to reign 
in his rightful kingdom. Pulch^rie marries Martian whom she had 
secretly loved even when she thought him the humlle lionoe. 
Heraclius Is to marry indo*e, daughter of Leontine, who Is now 
honored as the one who preserved the Infant son of Maurice. 

Melodramatic and romanesque to an extraordinary degree, 
this plot at once reminds us of Clltandre . that extravaganza of 
Corneille's first period. 

But instead of reverting to Comedy or Tragi-comedy, Cor¬ 
neille has now adapted to Tragedy all the qualities of his 
earliest manner: extremely complicated plot, with double disguises, 
revealing notes, equivocal remarks, — all these are used freely 
in Heraclius . And if we consider the 'denouement*, we shall find 
that It is quite in beeping with the tragi-comedy traditions: a 
double marriage, death of the villain, and reward of the virtuous. 

Such a plot fails in one of the first of Aristotle's re¬ 
quirements: that It should be of such proportion that one could 
embrace the whole at one time in the memory. This, if not im¬ 
possible, is manifestly extremely difficult for such a plot as that 
of Heraclius. There are so many antecedents which must be narrated 
during the course of the first act, that the plot is hindered from 
moving freely forward. The plot has the required Heversals of 
fortune, with Eecognition, but the number of reversals and the great 
delay in the recognition makes the plot weak, — it has the weakness 






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2 12 


of its very quality, Hor is the 'denouement* Aristotelian, for 
there is no killing except that of the villain, which is the 
'denouement' test suited to the vulgar taste, according to Aris¬ 
totle, tut not worthy of noble Tragedy. 

While based on an historical legend, as Corneille tells 

different 

us in the Preface Au Leoteur . this plot is fundamentally*from the 
Homan tragedies, for the history of a Baronius was not as well 
known as were the legends of classical antiquity. This Is ft Cor¬ 
neille free to change far more than minor details, and in fact, 
the pivotal point of H^raclius . the successful preservation of 
the infant son of Maurice, is fictitious. In Baronius, this 
child was handed over to Phocas shortly after the murder of the 
others. Corneille has used this legend of a distant land as 
though it were his own invention. Since there was no popular 
acquaintance with this story, it was the poet's right to adapt it 
to the necessities of the tragic stage. But by his complicated 
plot, his heroic characters, and his non-tragic 'denouement', Cor¬ 
neille did not make of the story an Aristotelian tragedy, but a 
romanesque, heroic drama. 

As for the characters, Corneille has conceived them in 
accord with the romanesque plot. Heraclius is the perfect hero, 
with no flaw; even when he doubts his own identity, he never be¬ 
trays his high station by any unworthy action. Pulcherie is a 
worthy sister to such a noble brother; she continues the group of 














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Cornelian heroines and steadfastly refuses to marry Martian, des¬ 
pite her love, until Phocas is killed; nor does she at any point 
waver in this purpose. Marti vn, son of the usurper, has some of 
the traits of his father, — "un peu de mauvaie sang”, as Cor¬ 
neille puts it, -- hut these have been nearly obliterated by his 
education away from his father. He is not Aristotelian, for he 
has no fatal flaw to lead him to his ruin. Not even the crime of 
his father is held over his head; he triumphs at the end, since 
he wine the hand of Puloherie, with her own consent and that of her 
brother. Phocas, while he is the motivating force of the external 
action of the play, like P^lix in olyeucte . is not one of the 
principal characters. He, however, comes more nearly under Aris¬ 
totelian requirements, since he wavers and knows not what to de¬ 
cide. Yet his whole standard is ambition, which immediately de¬ 
tracts from his role the necessary goodness, and since he is not 
strong in his decisions, he has no greatness in his crime, as has 
Cl^opatre in Rodogune or the earlier M^dee. 

Since the outcome is happy, not tragic, we know already 
that there can be no Aristotelian Katharfe&s. Pear and pity are 
alike lacking in such a tragedy: Heraclius faces Empire or Death 
with equal calm; Pulcherie is ready to recognize and esteem as a 
brother either Prince who proves himself such, ready to reign or 
die, and to defend herself at all events against a husband whom 
honor forbid® her to accept. For Martian we do not fear, since 


























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214 

hie blindness Is such that he assumes the noble courage of a 
true H^raclius, and his character is so weak that he adapts 
himself readily to all changes of fortune, iSudoxe perfects 
the symmetry of the play, tut is no more needed for the action 
than the Infanta or Satine in their respective plays; yet Cor¬ 
neille has well incorporated her role in this play. 

What becomes of the Unities in this crowded play? Unity of 
Action was difficult to maintain because of the many narrations, 
but Heraclius is always before the audience. The Unity of Time 
is extremely crowded, for the events necessary for the understand¬ 
ing of the plot cover twenty years in fact. Yet Corneille con¬ 
trived, as in the Cid . and indeed with better success, to bring 
the crisis and termination of all the threads of action into one 
day. The references to the time element in the test are very few. 
In 1. 641 there occurs the expression dans ce jour ; in 1 887, en 
££ .3oar ; in 1.916, cette heureuse journee ; in 1. 1610, avant 

X* fin du Jour, which is one of the moat striking instances, and 
near the close of the play, 11. 1816 If.: 

Madame: dans le cours d'une seule journee 

Je suis Heraclius, T^once et Martian; 

Je sore d'un erapereur, d'un trilun, d’un tyran. 

De tnus trois ce d^sordre en un jour me fait naTtre. 

These few instances show that even at this late date, ten years 
after the appearance of the Sentlaens eur le Cid , Corneille is 
still conscious of the weighty rule of the Unity of Time. It is, 
in fact, et this time, rather than ten years previously, that the 
Unity of Time was finding general acceptance. The Unity of Place is 












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215 

the conventional antechamber of the nondescript palace, to 
which each group comes for their respective conversations. 

After the outline of the plot, it is superfluous to 
state that Verisimilitude is utterly lacking in such a play. 

It is in the Preface Au Leoteur of this tragedy, that we find 
the famous sentence: "...quoioue peut-etre on voudra prendre 
cette proposition pour un paradox*, je ne oraindrai point 
d’avancer que 1© sujet d'une belle tragedie doit n’etre pas 
vraisemtlable. ,, Alongside of this fallacy, Corneille states 

another: "Inaction etant vraie ., il ne faut plus s’in- 

former si elle est vraieemblable, etant certain que toutes les 
v^rites sont recevatles daus la poeeie." It is evident that by 
1647, Corneille has gathered most of the material and made most 
of the reflections which are to be used in the Examens and Pis- 
coure of 1660. By the time of Heraclius, he is entirely freed 
from Aristotelian doctrine and gives way to the natural bent of 
hie genius, toward the romanesque ana the heroic. As Jules Lem- 
aitre e>presses it (1), "Heraclius serait le roi des m^lodrames, 
si oe n’etalt un melodrama asservi, contra tout© raison, aux 
regies de la tragedie." Alone, the Unities still hold Corneille 
bound to eafcth. It is significant and curious that this least 
Aristotelian, least rational lond, should be the only remaining 
link between the theory of Aristotle and the practice of Corneille. 
1. Petit de Julleville, 0£. cit., IV, 308. 









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CHAPTER UUr-m. SANCH& D' ARAGOff 

ge radius wap followed. In 1649, by Don Sanehe d'Aragon, 
which Corneille c®lle( a ’commie heroique 1 (1), a title which 
it ha? retained, and with reason. This title was clearly a 
subterfuge, for Corneille could not call it a tragedy, nor 
wae he entirely willing to term it a tragi-comedy, ft rat 
Sanehe partakes indeed of both 'genres’, and jusfc as tragi- 
comedy is itself an intermediate 'genre* between tragedy 
and comedy, so the heroic comedy may be said to stand be¬ 
tween tragi-comedy and tragedy: the elements of tragedy are 
more to the fore then the elements of comedy, in this hybrid 
form, the heroic comedy, Don Sanche has been treated fully 
and excellently by Higal, who devotes to it a chapter in his 
volume, De Jodelle a Moll ere . In this discussion Higal points 
out first that Don Sanehe presents the strongest possible con¬ 
trast to Polyeucte .whloh he had treated in the preceding 
chapter, as representing the highest point in Corneille's 
classioism. In the chapter on Don Sanche . Riga! analyzes in 
detail the dual nature of this play: how, by its romsnesque, 
unreal and complex action, ly the great role assigned to ehanoe 
(the possible improvable of Aristotle), and by its happy end¬ 
ing, £ >on SftPcrhe is closely akin to Clitandre and quite in 

1. The title *cornedie heroique* was used for Cyrano de Pergerao . 
which is the most notable example of the genre on the 
modern stage. The term 'com^die’heroique' suggests some¬ 
what the noveliet»4technique employed in these dramas. 





















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217 


the traditions of the tragi-eomody; and on the other hand, how 
this action is made worthy of tragedy by the simplicity of its 
presentation, (adherence to the unities of time and place (1) ), 
and above all, by that 'grandeur d'ame' so essentially Cor¬ 
nelian, and which, combined with its natural product. Admiration, 
constituted Corneille's greatest contribution to the dramatic 
art, by instituting a new type of tragedy in addition to those 
sanctioned by Aristotle. Thus, in so far as Pon Sanehe has, to 
a high degree, 'grandeur d'ame' - Bigal has shown by quotation, 
how all the characters react to their nobler sentiments - and 
produces through its characters, through the chief protagonists, 
Isabelle and Carlos, in particular, the Cornelian Admiration, we 
must consider it as belonging to the series of tragedies, and in 
spite of Its differing title, aB a companion piece to Heraclius. 

z i 

One factor alone justified Corneille in according to Heraollus 
the name of tragedy, which he denied Pon Sanche : the historical 
nature of its subject. How frail a thread marks the distinction be¬ 
tween tragedy and tr*gi-comedy or heroic comedy! A wholly unfami¬ 
liar historical incident, altered in all but the barest facts, how¬ 
ever improbable, can bestow the name of 'tragedy'; but an action 
of the poet*8 fancy, though endowed with the names of kings and 
queens, and motivated by no more improbable circumstances than 
its historical rival, must be content with the na;ne of 'comedy', 
tempered by the epithet 'heroic*I 

1. Bigal mentions only place, but Unity of Time is also ob¬ 
served. Cf. Pe. Jodelle k Mollkrc , p. 276. 














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218 


It is needless to present here again the complicated de¬ 
velopment of another romaneaque plot. Suffice it to say that 
£° p Sanehe . like Beracllug . is actuated by a mistaken identity: 
Carlos, who thinks himself the son of a humble fisherman, is 
revealed at the close of Act V as the rightful heir to the 
throne of Aragon. As in Heraolius . this revelation makes 
possible the happy ending, by which Isalelle, queen of Cas- 
tille, may marry Carlos whom she secretly loved, and Elvira 
may marry Don Alvar without sacrificing her love for Carlos, 
who, as Don Sanehe . is shown to be her brother. 

If Corneille did not return in Don Sanche to the pure 
tragi-comedy, it was due, as Rigal has pointed out, to the 
fact that the two great elements, henceforth to be known as 
the Cornelian attributes, ’grandeur d’ame* and Admtration, 
had become an intrinsic part of Corneille’s dramatic method. 
These he retained in plots of his own invention, just as for 
his historical tragedies he had sought out those subjects which 
would lend themselves to such treatment. 

It is not necessary that we should seek Aristotelian ele¬ 
ments in this lay, since we have already placed it in a class 
with Iferacliue . fce saw in the preceding chapter that Heracliue 
had no single Aristotelian quality left, except the Unities, 
which are pseudo-Aristotelian. The same may be said of Don 
Sanche , in which Corneille went even further than in Kernelius . 
He chose for Don Sanche a wholly imaginary sutject, and thus 
lost the support of history for his plot, which was improbable, 
both in its elem nts and in its development. Don Sanche is 
very clearly the ancestor of the Hernanl . or still more of the 
















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of the romantic school* The similarities between 
this roraanesque play of Corneille and Hugo’s romantic dramas 
are astonishing, as pointed out in Rigal's discussion. All 
of this leads us again to the oonoluaion already anticipated 
in our chapter on Bo&ogune . and which we have seen borne out 
in Eeraollus . that Corneille has now, by 1647 and 1649, re¬ 
introduced into tragedy the romanesque and the improbable, in 
plot and character. He has substituted for the true tragic 
actions, a false, self-imposed duty, which Incite the human 
interest of the situations presented in the Cid , or Horace , or 
Poly&ucte . 

But whereas, in Eeraollus . the complication of the action 
is the outstanding feature, and the romanesque plot entirely 
overshadows the characters, in Don sanehe the spectator or 
reader is not burdened with a multiplicity of incident or 
antecedents necessary for the understanding of the plot. Cor¬ 
neille himself felt it impossible to given an adequate ’Ar¬ 
gument* for Heraclius . but three pages (1) give a clear ac¬ 
count of the plot of Don Sanche . In this clay, Corneille’s 
primary interest was in his new theory of Admiration, which 
he did not dare proclaim until the Preface Au Leoteur of 
Klcomede . but of which he was fully conscious in Don Saflche . 
Carlos constantly arouses Admiration, never pity or fear. 

Ample quotations have been given from this role by Higal; of 
these we shall repeat only the most important. There are two 
passages which indicate sufficiently the hero’s character: 

1. Marty-Laveauz, V, 411-414. 
















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220 


Je ne veux rien devoir k ceu. qui ra'ont fait nattre, 
M suie asses connu eans lea faire connottre. 

Ivlais pour en quelque sort© obeir a voa lois. 

Seigneur, pour mea parents je nomme mea exploits* 

Ua valeur eat ma race, et m. n bras est mon pkre.(l) 

Here Carlos shows himself fully conscious of his true worth 

and nolility, but that these are not the words of ambitious 

pride is made clear by the lines Carlos addresses to the Queen 

in the following act: 

Je vous aime, madame, et vous estime en reine; 

£t quand j'aurois des feux dignes de votre haine. 

Si votre ame, sensible k ces indignes feux, 

Se pouvoit oublier jusqu'k souffrir mes voeux; 

Si par quelque malheur que je ne puis comprendre, 

Du trone jusqu'a mol v je la voyois descendre, 
Commenpant aussitot a vous moins estimer, 

Je cesserois sane doute aussi dd vous aimer.(2) 

Though conscious always of his valor, and a fearless sol¬ 
dier, Carlos is a severe master to himself, and recognizes that 
he can never rise above his supposedly low birth. This is the 
purest Cornelianism, and the character of Don Sanche prepares 
for Nicomede who, as wt shall see in the following chapter. 

Is the complete expression of Corneille’s ideal character. In 
Don Sanche the 'grandeur d'ame* is still overorowded by the 
romanesque action. Don Sanche has a oertain position in the 
evolution of Corneille's art, as being the natural transition 
from HeracliuB . a play in which romanesque action predominates, 
to Kicomede . in which 'grandeur d'ame' Btands forth in all its 
power. 


1. LI. 249-253. 

2. LI. 629-536. 











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CHAPl’hE XIV - NlCOUiJ)* 


Some time tetween January,1660, and inarch, 1661, appeared 
Uieom&de . entitled ’trag^die*. Unlike its predecessor, Mco- 
mede met with considerable success, augmented perhaps by the 
incidents of the Fronde; and again unlike Eon Sanche . this 
new play took its subject from history. After the ftilure of 
Don Sanche , Corneille made a sudden return to Homan history, 
and resented a political subject, shoeing Home’s colonial 
policy. In the Preface Au becteur , written but a few months 
after the play itself, Corneille says, "Mon principal tut a 
etc de peindre la politique des Homains au dehors, et comm© 
ils agi88olent imp^rieusement avec les rois leurs allies; 
leurs maximes pour les empecher de s’accrottre, et les soins 
qu’il prenoient de traverser leur grandeur, quand ell© com- 
mengoit a leur dev^nir suspect© a force de s'augmenter et de 
ee renOre consideralles par de uouvellea conquetes”. 2his 
was an ambitious program to be realized within the limits of 
a tragedy! And it was indeed a*stroke of genius* as one cri¬ 
tic ha; called it (1), that made of Hiooa&fie a tragedy which 
fills worthily a place alongside of some of Corneille’s best- 
known tragedies. 

1. lanson, Histoire , p. 439. 

















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222 




Let us then analyze briefly the plot of this striking 
drama—for drama it is, not tragedy, lUcomede is the son of 
Prusias, king of Bithynia, by a first marriage, and the valiant 
disci ole of his great teacher Hannibal, iliooaede is the right¬ 
ful heir to the throne. The step-mother, Arsinoe, is Jealous 
of ilicomede, on acc unt of her own son Attale, whom she would 
like to place on the throne. Nieomede loves Laodice, queen 
of a neighboring country; if he married her, snother great 
region vould be brought under his rule. This marriage had in 
fact been arranged, inasmuch ns the father of Laodic© had agreed 
that she should marry the heir to the throne of bithynia. 
Flaminius, the Homan ambassador, had brought Attale from Rome 
where he had been educated, and thus gained the sympathies of 
the ..other. Flaminius had a double commission from Rome, the 
one to get possession of Eannital, Rome's greatest enemy, and 
the 8ea.nl, to avert the marriage of Laodice and Sioomede, 
since that would out too much power into the hands of an enemy 
of liome. The treacherous Arsinoe had already aided Flaminius 
in doing away with Hannibal, and the action of our play is 
devoted to the moral struggle between Hieoraede on the one hand, 
and the combined efforts of Flaminius and Arsino^ on the other. 
Laodice and Attale, though mainsprings in the action, ere 
colorless figures, mere reflections of the moral greatness of 
Uicomkde. Prusias similarly is a weak and even unwilling 
partisan of Flaminius in whom he fe^rs the whole Roman people. 

lUcomobe h>s in his favor exceeding prowess and military 
glory, against which is set all the favor of Rome, represented 





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223 

by Plaminius, and the cunning vs ilea of a jealous stepmother 
in behalf of his younger brother Attale. Arsinoe uses her 
favor with Prusiae to make Attale king and to marry him to 
Laodice, in order that he may add to his kingdom hers also. 

But Laodice refuses to marry any other than Bicona^de; the 
people revolt against having any other than Bicoa&de as king. 

And despite the treachery of Arsinoe and the diplomacy of 
Flaminius, seconded ly the weakness of the cringing Prusias, 
Kicomkde stand© triumpant at the end of the play. 3e restores 
tranquility to the city, spares Prusias and Arsino&, offers 
new kingdoms to Attale, and hie alliance, lut not allegiance, 
to the Soman emmissary. 

Thus this play, like its predecessors, ie tragi-comic in 
its happy ending, and takes its place properly among the plays 
of Corneille’s later manner. It owes its name of 'tragedy' 
to the historical nature oi its subject, just as did '-'eracllue . 
But the lofty character of iiicomede arouses to the highest 
degree the tragic Admiration, and therefore this play dongs 
to the series of tragedies. Indeed, one may compare dcom^de 
very favoratly with drum , for ^oth presented what were es¬ 
sentially political subjects, and characters whose self-control, 
whose lofty dignity, were cafcuiated arouse our admiration. 

It will he recalled that Cinna lost somewhat because of its 
title, which put the leader of the conspirators before the 
hmperor, who was the real hero of the play, and resulted in 
a necessary shift of interest. This objection cannot be made 
against KiooaAae . Like Bicomede . Cinna had a happy ending. 














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224 


And like Hloomed© . also, Clnna presented a purely political 
subject. If we recall our disoussi ns of Clnna . we shall 
observe that all the objections were made then which can be 
mad© now against flicgated© : the characters lack psychology, 
th© action consequently lacks interest, Th© character of 
Augustus Is not that of a *man like ourselves*; neither is 
that, of nlearned©. The essential difference between Clnna and 
flicomede is that all these features are much accentuated in 
th© later play. In Clnna . the magnanimity of Augustus is 
shown up on one occasion duly, whereas in flIcomtedc . the hero 
is portrayed as always magnanimous—a kind of superhuman being, 
wh- disdains all the meaner ways of mortals, and stands in 
calm, ironic dignity, bestowing honors all around him. We 
have no longer any waverings, any counsel scenes as in Clnna . 
no longer any veati o of human weakness, 8loomed© is, par 
excellence , the tragedy of Admiration, the Cornelian tragedy. 

In it, the struggle Is between ’grandeur d*aia©* and *la 
politique*,—it is Corneille who thus names th© forces of his 
drama in the Preface Au Lecteur— the individual against Some, 
and it is the individual who wins, and offers his friendship 
to the distress of the World, The keynote of the role cf 
Sicomie© is given when he proclaims the great lesson of Hanni¬ 
bal (11. 577, 578): 

Hon, male 11 m*a surtout lalas© form© en oe point, 

D’estlmer beaucoup H-me, et ne la craindr© point. 

when Corneille wrote Clnna . he had Just written Horace , 
and was still striving for that classic perfection which he wee 
to attain in Polyeucfte . Just as in Horaoe . he chose again a 




































































famous incident from one of the lest known periods of Bo an 
history* In writing nloomede . Corneille had in mind Hereelins 
and Don Sanche . and the other plays that intervened between 
it and Cinna --ail the romanesoue plays, eased on otsoure 
legends very ranch altered, or Invented entirely ly the poet* 
With this different center t, eo to speak, it was onite natural 
that a similar subject should appear quite differently, at 
the two dates, and we ma^ consider that from Corneille’s own 
point of view, Mcoaede came closer to the realization of his 
ideals than Aid Cinna, for Mcoraefle commands more Admiration, 
displays grater ’grandeur d'amo* than Augustus, and the 
character is more masterfully presented throughout th- drama* 
From the Aristotelian point of view, for these same reasons, 
ffloomede is less of n. tragedy than Cinna * 

Our chief interest in tllcomede is the title role, since 
Ricomede embodies all of Corneille’s ideals of the tragic hero. 
Corneille sa^s of this play (1): ”I#a tendresse et les passions, 
qui doivent etre l’arae des tragedies, n’ont aucune part so 
celle-ci: la, grandenr de courage ( Z ) y regne seule, et re¬ 
garde son mslheur d'un oeil si dedaigneux qu’il n’en ssuroit 
arraoher une plainte. Kile y est conn attue par la politique, 
et n’oposo a sea artifices ou’une prudence genereuee, qui 
march© a visage decouvert, qui prevoit 1© peril sans s’emouvolr, 
et ne veut point d’autre appui que celui de sa vertu, et de 
1*amour qu’elle imprirae dans lee coeurs de t us lee peuples"* 

By tracing the character of Ricomede through the play, we shall 

1. Au lectenr . 

2. Wie underlining is the writer’s. 



















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226 

fce able to greap more completely the vast divergence between 

Aristotle and Corneille in the point of the tragic hero. The 

moral contest is stated in 11. 276, 276: 

£t nous verrone ainai oui fait mieux on brave homme, 
Des lemons d* Annual, ou de cellos de Heme, 

and the shades of Hannibal are again introduced in 11. 663, 664: 

Le maltre qui prit eoin d'instruire ma jeunesa# 

Ne m'a Jemals appris 4 f&ire une bassesee. 

The type of irony and disdainful superiority in the character 

of Hicom^ce, is well Indicated in 11. 709 ff.: 

Voile le vrni secret de fa ire Attale rol. 

Comm© vous l’avez dit, sans rien prendre eur asoi. 

La piece lb t delicate, et ecux qui I'ont tissue 
A de si longs detours font une digne issue. 

Jc n*y reponds qu'un mot, i taut sane int6ret, 

Traitez cette princess© en reine comma elle est: 


Q,u*elle seule rn ces lieux d’elle-memfe dispose. 

How well founded was ISicom^de's confidence in Laodice, is shown 
by her words to Flaminius in 11. 909 ff. Flaminius has Just 
hurled his thunderbolt: 

i£t Home ret au$ourd'hul la mattresee u monde. 

Laodice answers: 

La mattress© du monde. AhI vous me feriez peur, 

8*il ne e'en falloit pas l’Armenie et mon coeur, 

3i le grand Annifcal n*avoit qui lui eucc^de, 

S'il ne revivoit pns au prince Bloomed©, 

iit 8*11 n’avoit laisse dans de si dignes mains 

L'infelllible secret de vainore les Romains. 

Un si vaillant disciple aura bien le courage 
D'en mettre Jusqv'au lout les leqons en usage: 

L'Asle en fait I'epreuve, ou trois sceptres conquis 
Font voir en quelle eeole il en a tant a oris. 

Bicom&de reappears now with ironic remarks for Flaminius, 11. 

927, 928: 


Cu Rome a ses agents donne un pouvoir lien large, 
Ou voue etes bien Ion a faire votre charge. 















• - 


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227 

and the rest of the scene continues in the same tone. The 

same irony, though a little milder, comes out in the three 

lines addressed to Attale (1026-1028): 

C’ect n*avoir pas perdu tout votro temps a Home, 

Que roue savoir alnsi defendre en g^lant hor.me: 

Vous avcz de l 1 esprit, si vous n'avez de coeur. 

Again, in the presence of Pruts ias and Areinoe, alter Arsinoe 

has treacherously legged olemenoy lor JXieomede, he answers 

11. 1153 ff.): 

De quoi, Madame? est-ce d’avoir conquis 
Trois sceptres, que ma porte expose k v:tre fils? 
D’avoir port^ si loin vo» armes dans l'Asie, 

Que m$me votre Home n a pris jalousie? 

Trop du grand Annibal pratiqu^ les raaximes? 

S*il faut grace pour moi, choisissez de mes crimes: 
Les voil& tons, Madame;-- 

This is the tig trial scene, in which Hieomede holds his own 
against the cunning an^ treacherous Arsinoe'; in the following 
scene he lewlldere the weak Prusiae ly threatening to insult 
Home in the person of Jlaminius. Fis last words in the scene 
are addressed to Fleminius, who is to take him to Home as hos¬ 
tage: 


Tout lean, FlamlnlusJ ^je n*y suis pas encore: 

La route ©n est mal sure, a tout c^aid^rcr, 
qt'i m’y condnira nourra lien s’egarer. 

This is typical of hie character. *'icomede does not appear 

again tefore the last scene of the play, where he proclaims 

his triumph. His last words are for Flarainius, in which we 

see the c nclusio of the central plot, tJleomide against Home 

(11. 1859 ff.): 

Seigneur, \ deoouvert, toute ame genereuse 
D'avoir notre amiti^ doit se t* nir heureuse; 

Male nous n’en voulons plus aveo des dures lois 
Qu'elle Jette touJours sur la tete des rois: 
lions vous la deraan&ons hors de la servitude, 

Ou le nom d’ennemi nous sellers moins rude. 





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228 

Kicomede triumphs over individuals (Arsinoe, Prueias, Attale), 
and over the world (Home); he is always master of himself, with¬ 
out a momenta struggle—the perfected type of the Cornelian 
hero of the Mil, and the antipodes of the Aristotelian ’man 
liJce ourselves’ who falls into error through his human frailty. 

h v en Polyeuete, the Christian martyr, had a struggle to 
make, to overcome his mortal love for Pauline; and Pol^eucte 
dies at the close of the tragedy. After Polyeucte . Corneille 
*rote Theodore ir* which there was no human attachment, only 
moral perfection, tut Theodore was also hilled. Bicomede 
transcends loth these from Corneille’s point of view, since 
this hero conquers by his own indomitable Mil. Through his 
invincible will-power, Bicomide is not tragic, nor is he indeed 

dramatic. As Laneon has e^oellently stated it (1): -plus 

la volonte est pure, mo ins la trag^die sera dramatique: oe 
qui est dramatique, ce eont lee defaites ou les demi-succ^s, 
ou les lentes et couteuses victoircs de la volonte—— Thus 

Corneille has defini ely sot character, and ’character por¬ 
trayal ' above action; in this he opposed the fundamental 
doctrines of Aristotle. And in the Au Lee tour , he now formu¬ 
lates this new type of tragedy which he acts alongside of 
the accepted types. The passage reals: "De heros de ma fagon 
sort un peu des regies de la tragedie, on oe qu’il ne oherche 
point a fair® pitie par l'e ces de ses raalheur3; mais le Imcces 
a montre que la l’ermete / des grand3 coeura, qui n*excite ftue de 
1*admiration dans l’ame du speotateur, eat qualquefois aueai 
1. Histoire, p. 439. 









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229 


agreable que la compassion que notre art none commande de 
zaendier pour lours mielres". It le not until the &• "men 
that Aristotle is definitely named, tut it is entirely clear 
that the Poetics were in Corneille's mind when he wrote these 
lines in the Preface kv. Leeteur . 

Per the purpose of our investigation, this brief study 
of Hloomed© has been only negative. lut it has been none the 
lees profitable, for it prepares us for the formulation of 
some parts of Corneille's doctrine in the Pi scours and -bxamens . 










230 


CHAPTER XV - PRBTHARlTr. 

The last of the plays we are to consider, Pertharlte . 
was presented probatly in 1651. But its success was so 
slight that it was not played more than twice, although 
there were some few private performances of the tragedy. 
Corneille felt keenly this failure, and says in the Preface 

CL 

Au Lectuur . "la mauvaise reception que le pullic A faite a cet 
ouvrage m'avertit qu'il est temps que je sonne la retraite 
tt-—• II vaut mieux que Je prenne conge de moi-meme que 
d f attendre qu*on me le donne tout a fait; et il est juste 
qu'apres vingt annees de travail, Je commence a m'apercevoir 
que je deviens trop vieux pour etre encore a la mode". This 
last otservation is singularly true, and had Corneille held 
to this resolution to withdraw from the stage, he would not 
have faced the humiliation of his later failures. 

let us analyze briefly the elements of this last play, 
which caused Corneille to retire for a period of seven years. 
Eodelinde, widow of Pertharite, who is supposedly dead, and 
her son (2), are captives of Grimoald the usurper. Grimoald 
falls in love with Rodelinde, tut she wishes to remain true 
to Pertharite. Grimoald had already pledged himself to 

2. son does not appear in the play. 















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231 


indulge, sister of Pertharite, who is infuriated at his 
faithlessness* She seeks by vague premises of marriage to 
procure the services of Garitalde against Grimoaia, but 
Gariblade, in love with Eduige, seeks rather to hasten the 
carriage of Grimoald and Hodelinde. Hodelinde finally con¬ 
sents to marry Grimoald on the condition that he should kill 
her son, in order that he shall be despised y his people. 

At this point, the lost Pertharite appears to reclaim his 
wife* Grimoald will not believe hi© eyes and thinks it is 
an imposture. Garibalde, the villain of the play, wishes to 
marry Eduige, not for love of her, tut because she holds the 
right to the throne. He therefore endeavors further to es¬ 
trange Grimoald from Eduige, and attributes to her this ruse 
of the resuscitated Pertharite to draw Grimoald from Hodelinde. 
Grimoald menace? Pertharil* with dealh. Hodelinde renews her 
promises to Pertharite not to marry Grimoald. A faithful 
follower allows Pertharite to escape, but the treacherous 
Garibalde again captures him. In the fray, Garibalde is kill¬ 
ed and Pertharite is brought before Grimoald by soldiers. In 
the meantime, Grimoald has returned to his first lore, K uige, 
who now refuses him unless he will release her brother. hen 
Pertharite appears before Grimoald, the usurper astonishes 
everyone by restoring to the rightful king his throne and his 
wife, pledging his faith to Pertharite aa his king and to 
Eduige as his wife. 

One immediately notices similarities with the plot of 
Androraa <ue and almost as quickly, one recognizes the fundamen¬ 
tal differences. Andromaque is a great classical / tragedy and 

~ xf we compare the ’denouements 1 

Pertharite was a failure. 





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232 


of the two plays, we shall recall that with Bacine two of the 
four main characters buffer violent deaths, and Orestes is mad 
in the closing scene—an ending of the true tragic type; where¬ 
as Corneille has the villain killed and then resorts to an 
improbable reversal in the character of Grimonld, which results 
in a general reconciliation, with the wife restored to her 
husland, the fiancee to her lover, —the same type of ending, 
though far less well motivated, which we found in Heracllus . 

The plot is well constructed and the action well motivated 
throughout the first acts of the play, but the whole is ruined, 
from the viewpoint of tragedy, by the ’denouement 1 . We have 
suggested in the discussion of Heracllus that Corneille was 
brought to these happy ’denouements* for two reasons: the 
one, that the theater public was well pleased to see virtue 
regarded; the other that his own conception of his characters 
was that the,, should be heroic, masters of themselves, no 
les than of the universe, and with this ideal in mind, Cor¬ 
neille could not allow any weakness to creep in, and par¬ 
ticularly not so great a weakness aa to bring a hero to his 
downfall. 

Prom the heroes of his great period, Horace, Auguste, 
Polyeucte, Corneille has transferred the heroic, almost 
superhuman qualities, to obscure figures who are little more 
than automatons. In Pertharite . not one of the characters 
is persuasive; Pertharite reaop ar*, not to reclaim his throne, 
but to regain his wife, as he exclaims in 11. 1023 ff. He 
even sacrifices this last happiness, and seeks only to die 






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233 


and leave Hodelinde to be the wife of the usurping king 
(11. 1420 ff.). That such was not the outcome of the trag- 
e y was not due to any efforts of Pertharite, but to the 
improbable change in Grimoald's character. Grimoald loves 
Hodelinde more for her claims to the throne than for herself, 
yet he, of hie own choice, hands over the kingdom to Per- 
tharite without any circumstance, external or psychological, 
which would cause him to act thus. Hodelinde wishes to 
be faithful to Pertharite, yet she finally consents to marry 
Grimoald on a condition that actually destroys the only 
ground on which we might have excused her action. Hduige 
has more humanity about her than any of the others, for she 
is truly consistent throughout in her love for Grimoald, 
yet she is weak and lacks the fiery passion of an Hermione. 

Again Corneille sets up a situation and characters which 
we are to admire. Tut the surprising ’volte-face' of Grimoald 
at the end is not adequately prepared; it is only negatively 
so, in that Grimoald is never represented as a villain. The 
change of character is not 'vraisemtlatle' and does not leave 
us persuaded; it seems the action of a very weak character, 
rather than of an admirable hero, entirely lacking the gran¬ 
deur which surrounds the clemency of Augustus. Kach of the 
characters, particu arly Grimoald and Hodelinde, makes his 
heart oTey his intelligence. The whole play is well des¬ 
cribed by Lemaltre (1) as M le plus fol ^talage d'heroisme, 
et qui paralt ne rien couter a cee extraordinairee person- 
1. Petit de Julleville, j0£. cit ., IV, 314, 316. 




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nages---" and elsewhere he terms it a parody of Corneille. 
Corneille hi .self later recognized the fundamental error 
in this play, for in the Kxamen he says, "Ce qui l'a fait 
avorter au theatre a etc' 1'eWncment extraordinaire qui me 
l'avoit fait choisir". 

All the Aristotelian elements are gone now, save Unity 
of Action. Corneille’s innate dramatic sense furnished 
him with that first requisite of the playwright. But there 
is no longer any slightest attempt to conform to the Aris¬ 
totelian 'denouement*, or to produce pity and fear in the 
audiences. It is not only intended that the characters 
should arouse admiration--this had teen true of the master¬ 
pieces. They have now become either abstractions of the 
Human Bill (Hicom^de), or mere automatons who react to the 
Will of those around them (Pertharite). Verisimilitude 
has here found its antithesis, for neither Jfehe situation nor 
the characters are 'probable* in any sense of the word. 

Yet even here, Corneille has been faithful to the Uni¬ 
ties, those tyrants of incipient classicism. Unity of Action, 
we hare said, was maintained, without episodes or shift of 
interest, Corneille to the contrary notwithstanding.(1) Unity 
of Time is limited to a single day, and no menti n of the 
time element is made until the closing lines (1862): 

Allons mettre en eclat cette grande journ^e . 

1. Cf. the ixamen, where Corneille would see a shift of in¬ 
terest from Sodelinde in the first acts, to Pertharite 
later. Put Rodelinde may le said to represent her hus¬ 
band before his appearance and to keep his claims before 
the audience. 









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236 


This is sufficient evidence that Corneille was still con¬ 
scious, even at the close of this period of active pro¬ 
ductivity, of the first dramatic rule he had learned from 
the critics, although he had pulled away from all other re¬ 
quirements of classical tragedy. Unity of Place is of the 
usual type and needs no comment. 

This completes our discussion of the tragedies, and 
as we look hack over ou^study, we cannot tut observe that 
the length of our treatments has decreased almost steadily 
from the time we left Cinna and Polyeuete . This is not so 
much due to the fact that we omitted some material used in 
the earlier chapters, as it is to the fact ^tthich we have 
endeavored to develop from these studies, that Corneille's 
Arietotelianiem decreases steadily and rapidly after his 
four masterpieces. 








£36 


CHAPTER XVI - THi. DISCOURS ARD LXAUENS 


In this chapter, we shall trace briefly the dramatic 
theories of Corneille as he himself formulated them in 1660 
in the Dlscours and ^xamens . The Dlscours (1) are three 
essays which form a kind of ’Poetic Art* by themselves, and 
the ^.ainens are critical prefaces which Corneille placed be¬ 
fore each of his plays in the 1660 edition. The Dlsoours 
were actually written before the Ii.ua me ns , and at many points, 
they anticipate certain comments which are to be repeated 
later, in considering the individual plays, iach Piscours 
has a full title: Discours de l'Utilite et- dee Parties du 
Poeme Dramatlque . Discours de la Trogedle . et des Iloyens de la 
Tralter selon le Vraisemtlaile ou le a^cessalre , and Piscours 
des Trole United d’ Actlon . de Jour , et de lieu. These titles, 
however, do not completely indicate the nature of each e say. 

The first deals with the general purpose of dramatic poetry, 
with Plot and Character in both Tragedy and Comedy; the second 
with Verisimilitude; and the third with the Aristotelian Cathar¬ 
sis and the Unities. In this presentation we shall return to 
the order of topics followed in Chapter I, since here again, we 
shall be repeating Corneille’s own words, without any deductive 
analysis on our part. We shall merely resume, in order, Cornei- 

1. The immediate occasion for writing the Discours was the 
publication of d’Autignac's Pratique lu Th6a v tre in 1667, 
to which The Discours were to le an answer. 



































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11®* 8 precepts on Verisimilitude t katharsis, Plot, Character, 
and Unities. This will enable us to make more striking the 
contrasts with Aristotle's doctrine. 

-i^arly in the first Discours . Corneille expresses a respeot- 
ful discipleship towards both Aristotle and Horace - it is to 
be noted that from the first, Horace 4akes his place at the 
side of the Greek master. But Corneille regrets the lack of 
completeness and clarity in the two Poetics : "II faut done 
savoir quelles sont ces regies; mais notre inalheur eet qu’Aris- 
tote et Horace apres lui en ont ecrit asses otscur4ment pour 
avoir tesoin d'ioterpretes, et que ceux qui leur en ont voulu 
eervir jueques ici ne les ont souvent expliques qu’en 
grammairiens ou en philosophes. Comme ils avoient plus d'- 
etude et de speculation que d'experience du theatre, leur 
lecture nous peut rendre plus doctee, mais non pas nous donner 
teauccup de lumieres fort eures pour y reussir." This last 
sentence gives us immediately the point of view of the drama¬ 
turgist, whose first thought is for the stage itself. Similarly, 
in the last paragraph of the same Discours . Corneille says 
again: "Je tache de euivre toujours le sentiment d'Aristote 

dans les matieres qu’il a traitees;.Le commentaire dorit je 

m'y sers le plus est 1'experience du theatre et les reflexions 
sur ce que J’ai vu y plaire et deplaire." Writing as he did, 
after his great successes, Corneille was emboldened at times to 
formulate new theories, which he knew were not in Aristotle, 
but far more often, he seeks to make his ideas conform to the 









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rules laid down In the Greek Poetics . 

VEKISIMILITUDE 

The second Disoonrs which is devoted to the theory of 
Verisimilitude, shows very clearly how false an interpre¬ 
tation Corneille gave to the Aristotelian rule of ’probability 
or necessity 1 . Whereas we have seen in our first chapter that 
these two terms are inseparable and have identical meanings, 
both referring to the logical working out of the laws of 
Nature, Corneille considered them as entirely distinct one 
from the other. This matter is of such fundamental importance 
that it will be permissible to give in full the passage from 
the Discours (1); "Je dis done premierement que eette 
libert© qu’il nous laiaae d’eratellir lea actions hlstoriques 
par des inventions vraisemtlatles n’emporte aucune defense 
de nous ecarter du vraisemblatle dans le besoin. C’est un 
privilege qu’il nous donne, et non pas une servitude qu'il nous 
impose: cela est clair par ses paroles memea. Si nous pouvons 
traiter les choses selon le vraisemblable ou aelon le 
neceesaire, nous pouvons quitter le vraisemblable pour suivre 
1© neoessaire; ©t cette alternative met en notre ehoix de nous 
servir de celui des deux que nous jugerons 1© plus a propos.” 
The first error is in the subordination of the probable to the 
historic - "o’est I’hiotoire qui persuade avec empire" is Cor¬ 
neille’s constant refrain. For Corneille the ’vraisemblable* 

1. Piscours de la Tragedle. Marty-Laveaux, I, 81, 82. 










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239 


is inferior to the ’vrai’, and, far from being* the ideal 
towards which the poet should strive, is merely to he used 
as a poetic fiction when the historical material does not 
suffice. The necessary also is a poetic fiction, which ex¬ 
onerates the poet from following either the historic or the 
probable* The necessary Corneille understands to mean those 
dramatic fictions, especially in time and place, to which the 
poet often finds himself compelled. This separation of the 
* vrai semb"’able* and the *n^cessaire* is continued throughout 
the discussion and Corneille undertaker to determine when the 
one should be followed and when the other. The general con¬ 
clusion le that the Unities often lead the poet awfiy from the 
'vraisemblable*: "L'oleissanee que nous devons aux regies de 
1’unite de Jour et de lieu nous dispense alors du vraisemlTable, 
bien qu'elle ne nous permette pas 1'impossible; male nous ne 
tonal one pas touJours dans cette necessite; et la Suivante , 

Cinna , Theodore , et Kicomede . n'ont pas eu cesoin de s'ecsrter 
de la vraieemblTnce a l'egard du fcemps...." And yet, we shall 
recall that it was in the name of Verisimilitude that the 
Henaissance critics first formulated these same Unities! 

Corneille then analyses the possible kinds of 'Vraisem- 
blance' and finds two main divisions, (1) each of which he sub¬ 
divides in turn: the 'vrai8emblable general et particulier* and 
1. hoc. clt *, 88. 







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240 


the 'vraisemllable ordinaire et extraordinaire*. The first 
has reference to types, such as the characteristics to he 
attributed to a king or a general, or a lover; the second to 
individuals, as Alexander, or Caesar. The third *ind, *le 
vraisemblable ordinaire*, covers those actions which are 
reasonably frequent in occurrence, and the 'vraise&blatle ex¬ 
traordinaire * refers to those actions which are not frequent 
in occurence, tut still well within possibility. In this 
minute analysis of Verisimilitude, Corneille goes beyond Aris¬ 
totle, who contented himself with the general exposition of the 
doctrine. Corneille never grasped the difference between the 
two kinds of ’possible*. That which is merely 'possible* in 
terms cf human life, Aristotle had rejected from Tragedy, be¬ 
cause it lacks that element of universality which is indicated 
by the Aristotelian 'probable*, applied to the broad, general, 
unchanging laws of Mature. When Aristotle said, "It is pro¬ 
bable that many things should happen contrary to probability," 
he was expressing the* two moanings of the term. Tut Corneille, 
far from seeing that distinction, considers that such actions 
should not be termed 'probable' but 'necessary'! (1) The'nec- 
eesary! Corneille then defines ae 'le besoln du poote pour 
arriver a son but ou pour y faire arriver see aoteurs.** 

All these erroneous ideas v,ith regard to Verisimilitude are 
the direct result of the Kenaissance criticism on the seventeen- 
1. Disooura de la Tragedle , ^arty-Taxeaux, I, 92. 










241 


th-century writers. We have seen that Arietotle’s aesthetic 
viewpoint, with its conceptions of Universality, gave way be¬ 
fore the materialistic, factual, moralizing spirit of the 
Renaissance. Thus it was entirely natural that, for Corneille, 
Truth was a higher authority for the poet than Verisimilitude. 
It is in this conviction that he writes (1): "... lee grands 
su^ets .... doivent toujours aller au dela du vraisemblable; 
et ne trouveroient aucune croyance parmi les auditeurs s’ils 
n'etoient soutenus, ou par l'autorite de l’histolre qui per¬ 
suade avec empire, ou par la preoccupation de l*opinion 
commune qui nous donne ces meines auditeurs deja tous per¬ 
suades." Aristotle, on the other hand, had expressly said 
that history was a lesser ’genre* than poetry, since it nar¬ 
rated but particular incidents, while poetry expressed the 
universal. 

KATUARS1S 

As with Verisimilitude, so with the other topics in our 
discussion, we shall find that Corneille was in constant 
opposition with Aristotle, in most cases either unconscious¬ 
ly or reluctantly so. This is nowhere more apparent than in 
the matter of Catharsis. We have seen, first, that Corneille 
was in no position to comprehend an aesthetic Xatharis, and 
with the pressure of the Italian critics upon him, it was 
22* Discours du ?oeme Pramatlque . Jlarty-Laveauac, I, 15. 








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242 


natural that he should accept unquestioningly the moral, did¬ 
actic interpretation. And secondly, we have seen in our 
studies of the plays themselves that Corneille never produc¬ 
ed plots or characters such as to arouse the Aristotelian 
Fear and Pity. These two conditions made it inevitable that 
Corneille should not be fitted to conform, even in theory, 
to the Aristotelian doctrine in this respeot. Fortunately for 
Corneille, this was one of the most obscure passages in the 
Poetics and he has all freedom to develop his own notions in 
this matter. 

Corneille combines,from the first, the Aristotelian and the 
Horatian doctrines. While expressing Aristotle's theory that 
the sole purpose of dramatic poetry is the pleasure of the 
spectators (1), he is equally ready to grant the moral pur¬ 
pose added by Horace (2): "Alnsi, quoique 1'utile n'y entre 
que sous la forme du delectable, il ne lalsse pas d'y etre 
necessaire, et il vaut mleux examiner de quelle fagen il y 

peut trouver sa place, que d'agiter - une question Inutile 

touchant l'utilite de oette sorte de poemes." Then follows the 
descriptions of the four means of moral uplift afforded in 
Tragedy: 1, the use of moral maxims; 2, the portrayal of vices 
and virtues; 3, the punishment of the wicked and reward of the 
good; 4, the purgation of the passions through pity and fear. 

1. Piscours du Poeme Dramatlque , Marty-L^veaux, I, 13. 

2. I-i sc ours du Poeme rramatlque . Marty-Lave aux, I, 17. 












This last has lost entirely the preeminent position it held 
with Aristotle: in the Greek text the arouBing of Pity and 
Fear was the distinctive function of Trugedy, and now this 
has been reduced to a level with the portrayal of vices and 
virtues! Corneille was never fully persuaded that the power 
of Tragedy was strong enough to purge men of the passions of 
pity and fear (1): "Si la purgation des passions se fait dans 
la tragedie, je tlens qu'elle se doit faire de la aani&re que 
je l'expllque: mats je doute si elle s*y fait jamais, et dans 
oelles-la menae qui ont lee conditions que demands Aristote... 
et j'al lien peur que le raisonnement d*Aristote sur ce 
point ne soit qu'une belle idee, qui n'alt jamais son effet 
dans la verite." IShile he did not perhaps recognize the aes¬ 
thetic taels of the Aristotelian phrase, Corneille did realize 
that it was futile to attempt to free the human race, or any 
group of persons, from the natural emotions of Pity and Fear. 

He therefore substituted for this enigmatical 'purgation of 
the passions', the more attainable object of depicting the 
reward of virtue and the punishment of wickedness. This had a 
necessary effect on Plot, which we shall mention in our next 
section. 

Put Corneille came to create a type of Tragedy different 
from any known to Aristotle — the Tragedy of Admiration, fthile 
1. Dlscours de la Tragedie, Marty-Laveaux, I, 57, 58. 






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244 


we have shown that, from the Cid on, all the Cornelian 
heros called forth Admiration, not Pity nor Fear, Corneille 
himself seems slow to recognize this fact. It is not before 
Preface to Hlcom4de that Corneille sets Admiration on a 
level with Pity (1), tut in the h:xamen to this same play, he 
has the courage of his conviction and adds a paragraph on 
his new theory: "Dans 1’admiration qu’on a pour sa (2) vertu, 
je trouve une maUiere de purger lea passions dont n’a point 
parle Arlstote, et qui est peut-etre plus sure que celle 
qu’il prescrit a la tr°.gedie par le moyen de la piti£ et de 
la crainte. L*amour qu'elle nous donne pour cette vertu Que 
nous admirona, nous imprime de la haine pour le vice oon- 
traire." Highly moralizing still, this type of tragedy is 
more intrinsically Cornelian than the Aristotelian tragedy, 
founded on pity and fear. We have traced the origins of this 
theory of Admiration to Minturno (2),*but we determined in an 
earlier chapter that Minturno had in mind a quite different 
type of Admiration (4) from that which Corneille develops. It 
is curious to note that in the Discours , no mention is made of 
Admiration, but several pages are devoted to Pity and Fear. This 
would ma&e it seem that the Discours were a commentary on Aris¬ 
totle’s Poetics rather than an 'expos^' of Corneille’s own 

1. Quoted above, Ch. XIY, pp. 

2. OfV lUcomede . 

3. ££• supra , Ch. II, pp# 33 . 

4. Cf. sopra . Ch# II, pp. *3 5%. . 














246 


theorias. In eplte of th« following statement near the 

opening of the first Dleooure : "Je - airs! men peneees 

tout eimpleaent, sans esprit ae contestation que m'engage 
a lea soutenir." 

PICT 

After the discussion of the purpose of Tragedy, Corneille 
proceeds to the subjects of Tragedy* Her© it is that we 
find his definition of tragic action (1): w Sa dignite de¬ 
mand© quelque grand interst d’etat, ou quelque passion plus 
noble et plus m&le que 1’amour, telles que eont l’amlition 
ou la vengeance, et veut dormer 4 craindre des malheurs plus 
grande que la perte d’une mattress©." ^his he supports by 
the practice of the Ancients. He then naices his classifi¬ 
cation of Comedy, Tragedy, and ’heroic comedy 1 on the double 
basis of the actions and the persons portrayed: slight action 
with mediocre characters gives comedy; serious action and 
noble persons produces Tragedy; and the combination of less 
serious action with lofty persons, gives a hybrid type which 
he names ’heroic comedy’, and which he exemplifies by his own 
P.on Sanche * His definition of Tragedy is partly Aristotelian: 
"la tragedie veut pour son sujet une action illustre, ex¬ 
traordinaire, serious©”, with "de grand perils pour ses heros", 
and the action must be "complete et achevbe" (2). Ae for th© 
"denouement*, Corneille expressly says (3): "...nous avons 1© 
choix do fair© un changement de bonheur en malheur, ou de mal- 

1• Di8Coure du Pceme Iramatique . Marty-Laveaux, I, 24. 

2. ftiscours du go41 me ftraaatlque . Marty-Iaveaux, I, 26, 26* 

3. Piscours du ?b¥me ftramatique . Marty-Laveaux, X, 31. 






























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246 


hexiv en lonheur". Such was not Aristotle’s dictum. How far 
Corneille was influenced by the Italian critics, particularly 
Castelvetro, cannot be known, tut it is safe to suppose that 
reflections on his own plays led Corneille to this attitude. 

It is again a conscious a dltion to Aristotle’s theory, 
when Corneille specifies that the first act must either in¬ 
troduce, or at least make reference to, all actions and per¬ 
sons who are to appear in the later parts of the tragedy. 
"Cette maxlme est nouvelle et aesez severe, et je ne 1’ai 
pas toujours gard^e; raais j’estime qu’elle sert beaucoup 4 
fonder une veritable unite d’action, par la liaison de toutes 
celles qul concurrent dans le pokme." (1) We have seen this 
theory in practice in Theodore where Pidyme was mentioned 
several times, ostensibly to foreshadow the later action. We 
have also seen in Don Sanehe that Corneille did net prepare 
for Don Raymond nor the fisherman. Corneille repeats Aris¬ 
totle in condemning extraneous episodes and personages, and 
does not hesitate to class the Infanta in the number (2). 

In admitting the happy ending to Tragedy, and in making 
these several detailed requirements of Plot, Corneille has 
distinctly constructed his own theories, quite independently 
from Aristotle. 

CHARACTER 

Corneille begins his comments on Character by stating 
the four conditions required by Aristotle, to which he gives 

1. Piscours du Poeme Draroatlque, Marty-Laveaux, I. 42. 

2. Piscours du ?o£mc Pramatlque . Marty-laveaux, I. 48. 














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the French terms w© have teen following in this study:’bonneJ 
'convenabls*, 'eemblable', and ’egale’. This requirement that 
the characters be 'good* is most disconcerting to Corneille 
in the face of his own Medee and Cleopatre. He comments (1): 

"Je ne puis comprendre comment on s voulu entendre par ce 
mot de tonnes, qu'il faut qu’elles soient vertueuses" and adds 
his own explanation: "Je crois que c'est le esract^re trillant 
et 6levee d’une habitude vertueuse ou criminelle, selon qu 1 - 
elle est propre et ccnvenable k la personae qu'on introduit." 
From what we hare said on this matter in our first chapter,(2) 
we may conclude that in this instance Corneille came nearer 
than his contemporaries and predecessors to the true intent of 
Aristotle, but he was enabled to do this only by laying aside 
his strictly moral views of Tragedy. In speaking of Cleopatre 
in Bodoguns . he admits that she is "tr&s-roeehante", but w tous 
Bee crimes sont accompagnee d'une grandeur d*«Lme qui a quelcue 
chose de si h&ut, qu’en meme temps qu'on deteste ees actions, 
on admire la source dont elles partent.” The same might be 
said of Midee. If these characters had been criticized by Aris¬ 
totle, it would not have been on moral grounds, but for that 
very ’grandeur d'ame*, which makes of them invincible, super¬ 
human figures. 

The term ’convenable* Corneille understands in its true 
significance. ’Semblable* he misunderstands, as is natural from 

1, Diecoure du Poeme Dramatlque , Marty-Laveaux, I, 31. 

2. Cf. supra . Ch. I,pp .>^ 










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248 


his misinterpretation of the principle of Verisimilitude. He 
considers it to apply only to those characters taken from 
history or legend, and who muet be portrayed according to the 
accepted notions of them. Corneille never suspects that there 
is anything else behind this term, and oven wonders at those 
critics who have puzzled over it.(l): "Ainei cee deux qualites(2) 
dent quelques interpretee ont teaucoup de peine k trouver la 
difference qu’Aristote veut qui soit entre elles sans la de¬ 
signer, s'accorderont aisernent, pourvu qu’on les separe, et qu’- 
on donne cells dc ccnvenables aux personcee imagines, .... en 
reservant 1’autre pour celles qui sont connues par l’histoire 
on par la fable....* It was not possible for. Corneille to grasp 
the larger aspect of the term ’semllable’ ©t ’true to life* 
which we have described in our analysis of the Greek Poetics . 

The term ’kgal’ gives no difficulty, and Corneille names 
Chimeme as an example of a character who is ’Inegalement kgale*. 
In our discussions of the tragedies we never found that Cor¬ 
neille’s characters lacked consistency - (except in the case of 
Chimene). Potfc in praotlee and in theory Corneille understood 
and accepted this precept. 

One of the important points on which Aristotle and Cor¬ 
neille are at variance, is with respect to the perfect charac¬ 
ter. Aristotle rejects the perfect here from Tragedy, and we 

%i piscours du Poeme rramatlcue . Marty-Lavesax, I, 37. 

2. *Convenable * and 'sem>l^hle *. 








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249 


have seen the reason for this In our first chapter (1). Cor¬ 
neille comments (2): "L*exclusion See personnes tout a fait 
vertueuses qui tomi ent dans le malheur tannit les martyrs de 
notre theatre. Polyeucte y a reussi centre cette maxime..." 

In the jlxamen of Polyeucte . he devotes a long paragraph to this 
matter, citing Hinturno, among others, who, as we have seen(5) t 
admitted Christ and the martyrs on the stage. 

In the matter of Character, then, Corneille misinterprets, 
or disagrees with, Aristotle on the two fundamental requirements: 
that they be not wholly good, and that they he , seatlahle8 , or 
'true to life'. Both these discrepancies are directly attri¬ 
butable to Corneille’s failure to grasp the aesthetic nature of 
Aristotle’s criticism. This is self-evident as regards the 
term ’semblable': and if it were not for a certain moral concern, 
Corneille woudd not have stressed the 'admirable* hero to such 
an extent. 

UNITIES 

To the all-important Unities, Corneille devotes the whole 
of the third Discours . He discusses them in the Aristotelian 
order - if such we may call it and it is interesting also to 
note the proportion of the essay devoted to each of the three 
Unities. In the Marty-Laveaux edition, this Discours covers 
twenty-five pages, of which fourteen deal with the Unity of Ac¬ 
tion, six with time, and five with Place. Again this would seem 

1. Cf. supra,, Ch. I. p. 

2. Piscoure de la Tragedie , Marty-Laveaux, I 5 69. 

3. Cf. supra . CK7 II. p. Tf . 












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250 


to indicate that Corneille was following rather Aristotle’s 
own Poetiee than hie own practice. Certain it is, that in his 
plays, the Unity of Time loomed very large. 

The DlBCOKrs opens with the definition of the Unity of 

Action: ”.1 ‘unite d'action consists.en I'unite de 

p^ril dans la tragedie, soit que son heroe y succomte, eoit 
qu il en sorte". Then follows the well-known passage in 
which a second peril is admitted n pourvu que de 1‘un on tombe 
necessairement dans 1*autre.” He finds the second peril in 
Horace and Theodore faulty, since he says that there was no nec¬ 
essity for them. In our studies of these plays, we have shown 
that there was an inherent necessity of character, as well 
as a dramatic or historic necessity, which actually required the 
second peril. More Aristotelian is the next comment made, that 
all actions must result from seme preceding action or situation 
in the Plot. The source of this dictum is the passage from the 
Poetics already quoted (1), which requires that all Reversals or 
Recognitions “arise from the internal structure of the plot, so 
that what follows should he the necessary cr probable result of 
the preceding action”. But Corneille adds to this precept an 
interpretation quite his own, of which we have already spoken in 
the section on Plot, namely, that in order to have such logical 
relationship, all actions Bhould bo anticipated in the first Act. 
Of this, Corneille says (2): "Cette regie,... bien qu’elle soit 
nouvelle et centre l'usage des anciens, a son fondement sur deux 

1. Cf. supra , Ch. I, p. ,s ~ . 

2. riseours cies Trols Unites, Marty-Laveaux, I, 101. 



















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261 


passages *4 d'Aristote", ana he quotes the above passage from 
the Poetics. This indicates well Corneille's tendency to 
particularize Aristotle's doctrine. Whereas Aristotle was a 
critic, Corneille never ceases to be & playwright, and he has 
constantly in mind the requirements of actual construction 
and production of a play. He feels the need for more specific 
guidance than Aristotle had given, or than any of the Italian 
oommeatators had added in their larger works. 

One of the results of this preoccupation with dramaturgic 
details, was the theory of the 'liaison de scenes', an off¬ 
spring of the Unity of Action, tut totally unknown to Aris¬ 
totle's theory. Corneille admits that it is tut an "ornament 
et non pas une regie" (1) and was not observed by the ancients 
nor even by his own predecessors. But, he adds, "ce qui n'- 
etoit point une r^gle autrefois l'eet devenu maintenant par 
l'assiduite de la pratique."(2) 

Similarly, in his comments on the 'noeud' or complication 
of the Plot, Corneille gives suggestions for the construction 
of a Plot. He would advise as little narration as possible of 
preceding action, as this burdens the minds of the spectators. 
He instances Heracllus as an example of those plays which re¬ 
quire "un extraordinaire effort a 1'attention du speotateur, 
et l'empechent souvent de prendre un plaisir entier aux pre¬ 
mieres representations, tant ila le fatiguent." (3) For the 
'denouement', he repeats Aristotle's admonitions against a mere 

1. Diaooure des Trols Unites . Marty-Laveaux, I, 101. 

2. Ilid.7T02. 

3. Ibid., 106. 









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252 


change of mind on the part of the characters, and against a 
•Pens ex machine*. It is curious to note here how he spares 
his own jj^dee: "Male je trouve un peu de rigueur au sentiment 
d'Aristote, qui met en meme rang le ohar dont Med^e se sert 
pour s'ent’uir de Corinthe apr^s la vengeance qu'elle a prise de 
Creon. II me semble que c*en est un assez gr^nd fondement que 
de 1*svolr faite magicienne, et d*en avoir rapporte dans le 
poeme des actions autant au-dessus dee forces de la nature que 
celle-la. Apr&s qu'elle a rsjeuni eon pere Egon depuis son 

retour,... char volant n*est point hors de la vraisem- 

blance; et ce poem© n*a point \esoin d*autre preparation pour 
cet effet extraordinaire." But the flying chariot remains still 
a *Peus ex Machine* and, as such, is not within the requirements 
of Aristotle. 

Corneille goes eo far as to indicate, in general at least, 
what is to te included in the several acts of the play, and the 
number of scenes per act — again considerations of the author, 
not of the critic. From Aristotle's statement that a tragedy 
should l© so constructed that the reader could receive as vivid 
an impression as the spectator, Corneille derives the suggestion 
that stage directions should be printed with the plays.' And it 
is in this manner that Corneille ends his comments on the Unity 
of Action — it would s<era that he had wandered somewhat from 
the topio. 

At the beginning of the discussion of the Unity of Time, Cor- 






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263 


neille comments on the divergent interpretations of Aristotle's 
"revolution of the sun", and promptly states his preference for 
the twenty-four interpretation. He would even extend this 
when necessary: "Je trouve qu'il y a dee sujets si malaises a 
renfermer en si peu de temps, que non-seulement Je leur accorde- 
rois les vingt-quatre heures ©ntieres, mais je me servirois merae 

o 

de la licence que donne ce philo^phe Arlstote de les exc^der un 
peu, et les pousserois sans scrupule Jusqu'a trente." After the 
difficulties which, as we have seen, confronted Corneille in the 
writing of his own plays in this connection, we are not a little 
surprised to find him defending the Unity of Time against detract 
iors: "Beaucoup declament contrc cette regie, qu'il nomment ty- 
rannique, et auroient raison, si elle n'etoit fondee que sur 1'- 
autorit4 d'Arlstote; mais ce qui la doit fair© accepter, e'est 
la raison naturelle qui lui sert d'appui." And he continues in 
the vein of ^caliger or Castelvetro: "La representation dure deux 
heures, et ressemll eroit parfaitemc nt, si l'action qu'elle repre¬ 
sent© n'en deoandoit pas davantage pour sa realit^. Ausei ne nous 
arretons point ni aux douze, ni aux vingt-quatre heures; mais res- 
serrons 1'action du poem© dans la moindre duree qu'il nous sera 
possible, afin que sa representation ressemhle mieux et soit plus 
parfaite. ?Je donnons, s' 11 se peut, a 1'une que les deux heures 
que 1*autre remplit." After this flight of idealism, so to speak, 
he returns once more to the necessities of play-writing, and 
advises that the time element he left indefinite, and receive no 
mention in the verses of the play. We have found instances, how- 



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254 


everiji in whloh Corneille had not observed this injunction in 
writing hie tragedies. It is in this connection that he re¬ 
proaches himself with a passage in the Cid: "je me euis tou- 
Jonrs repenti d’avoir fait dire au Hoi, dans le Cid, qu'il 
vouloit one Kodrigue se d^lassat une heure on deux spree la 
defaite des Satires avant que de eombattre Don Sanche: je 1 »- 
avois fait pour montrer one la piece etoit dans les vingt-qua- 
tre henree; et cela n’a servi qu'a avertir les spectatenre de 
la contrainte avec laqnelle Je l*y al reduite. Si j'avois fait 
resondre ce combat sans en designer Insure, peut-etre n'y 
auroit-on pas pris garde." (1) Already in the Discours de la 
Trngfedle, in the discussion of *Vraisemtlance’, the Unities of 
Time and Place had found mention: "Pour plaire selon les regies 
de son art, il a besoin de renfermer son action dans l'unite d© 
Jour et de lieu" and he adds that this is "d'une n^cessite ab- 
solne et indispensable." 

As for the Unity of Place, Corneille admits that he finds 
no such precept in Aristotle, nor in Horace. Yet this in nowise 
deters him from the strict interpretation of the rule. He 
blames those who would permit places so far distant that it would 
require twenty-four hours to go between them, although we have 
observed that he had permitted himself this licence in at least 
one of his early comedies. (2) As for Time, Corneille advocates 
also the strictest interpretation of the Unity of Place: "Je 
souhaiteroie, pour ne point geher du tout le spectateur, que ce 

1. Discours de la Tragedie. Marty-Laveaux. I. 96. 

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256 


qu»on fait representer devant lui en deux heures se put passer 
en effet en deux heures, et que ce qu’on lui fait voir aur en 
theatre qui ne change point, piit a’arreter dans une chambre 
ou dans une salle, —; m&ie souvent cela est si malais^, pour 
ne pas dire impossible, qu'il faut do necessity trouver quelque 
elargissement pour le lieu, comma pour ae temps." *ven more than 
the Unity of Time, that of Place is surrounded by a whole frame¬ 
work of stage-business, arid Corneille covers several pages with 
suggestions whereby an appearance of unity may be preserved 
without wholly disregarding logic. Hie conclusion ie this: * Je 
tiens done qu’il faut chercher cette unite exacts autant qu*il 
est possll le; mais coniine e 11 e ne s’ accomode pas avec tout© sorte 
de sujets, j*accorderois ties-volontiers qua ce qu’on feroit pass¬ 
er en une seule villa auroit I'unite de lieu." And then he begins 
to delimit this broad interpretation, and would permit but two or 
three particular points in that oity. To make this duplicity of 
place,—he recognizes it as such -- more acceptable, he would 
have the ohange occur between acta, not within acts; the deooration 
should remain the same for both; and only the general place-name 
should be given. But this still leaves a difficulty, for persons who 
are enemies cannot speak out their secrets in the same room successi¬ 
vely, and yet it often happens that such persons appear in the same 
adt. To obviate this 'invraisemblance *, Corneille resorts to a re¬ 
markable plan. "Les jurisconsultes admettent des fictions de droit; 
et je voudrois, s leur eiemple, introduire des fictions de theatre, 
pour etatlir un lieu theatral qui ne seroit ni 1’appartement de Cleo- 



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266 


patre, ni celui de Bodogune dans la piece qui port© ce titre, 
ni celui de Phocas, de Leontine, on do Pn^cherie, dans Her - 
aclius . mais une salle eur laquelle ouvrent oes divers apparte- 
ments, a qui j'attritueroie deux privileges: l*un, que chaoun 
de ceux qui y parleroient fut presume y parler avec le merae 
secret que s’il etoit dans sa chambre; l'autre, qu’au lieu 
que dans l'ordre commun il est quelquefoiB de la bienseance 
que oeux qui occupent le theatre aillent trouver ceux qui 

sont dans leur cabinet. ceux-ci pussent les venir trouver 

sur le theatre, sans ohoquer cette bienseance, afin de con- 
server l'unlte de lieu....” The first and last sentences of 
the concluding paragraph of this Discours typify well Corneille's 
half-defiant, half-sutmissive attitude in the matter of the 
Unities: "Beaucoup de mes ieces en{l) raatfeeront si I'on ne 
veut point admettre cette moderation, dont je me contenterai 
toujours k l'avenir, quaod je ne pourrai satisfaire k la dern- 

iere rigueur de la regie. Je ne doute point qu'il ne soit 

aise d'en (2) trouver de meilleurs moyens, et Je serai tout 
pret de les suivre lorsqu’on les aura mis en pratique aussi 

vU t 

heureusement qu'on y s^les miens.” In the £.xamen to ^elite, 
Corneille tells us that, as early as this first play, he had 
kept the scene within the limits of one city: "Ce sens commun, 
qui etoit touts ma regie,.....m*avoit donne assez diversion 
de cet horrible dereglement qui mettoit Paris, Home ©t Con- 

1. Unity of Place. 

2. Of making the practice conform to the rules. 









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267 


stantinople sur le merae theatre, pour reduire le mien dans 
une eeule ville." And while he never did go so far as to 
represent two cities on the stage simultaneously, or even 
successively, in the same play, we have seen that he did go 
teyond the limits of one city, in Clltandre . and admit also 
the use of a neighboring forest. We have seen how widely 
Corneille's practice varied as regards Place in his plays be¬ 
fore the Cid; but after Clnna he regularly uses the indefi¬ 
nite 'palais a volonte', which, despite its many 'invraisem- 
blance8 f , saved Corneille much casuistical explanation. 

In this chapter we have devoted more time to a dis¬ 
cussion of the Unities than to any other of our topics, Just 
as Corneille himself had done. This will bring before our 
minds once again the tremendous importance this almost tota¬ 
lly pseudo-Aristotelian precept had gained in the early 
seventeenth century. Let us review now hastily, the relation¬ 
ship between this body of poetic doctrine which Corneille con¬ 
structed, and the original Poetics of Aristotle. On the matter 
of Verisimilitude, Corneille was at utter variance with Aris¬ 
totle. This was the result, we have said, of Renaissance 
criticism, and it is due to the theories of a Scaliger and a 
Caetelvetro, who both advocated seeking an illusion of reality 
in subjects and their treatment, that the conception of 'nature's 
unfulfilled intentions' was lost. Likewise, in considering 
katharsis, we have seen that Cornell]e never suspected the 
possibility of an aesthetic interpretation, and was blithely 









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268 


unconscious that the didactic function was an invention of 
Horace, accepted and developed by the Henaissance critics. 

In Plot, the chief points of difference between Aristotle's 
theory and Corneille's, are the 'denouement 1 , for Corneille 
admits in theory as well as in practice, the happy ending; 
the predominance and preference which Corneille gives to 
the historical plot. The wholly minor precepts for con¬ 
struction of plots, which are given in the Piscours for the 
guidance of the playwright, are contsary to the type of 
higher criticism represented by Aristotle's Poetics . It 
follows naturally after his misconception of Verisimilitude 
and Katharsis, that Corneille should view Character different¬ 
ly from Aristotle. If the function of Tragedy is didactic, 
there is no longer any reason for net portraying the perfect 
character on the stage. We have seen the misinterpretation of 
the term 'semblable* or 'true to life* which is inherent in Cor¬ 
neille's system. On all fundamental matters of doctrine, then, 
Corneille is at variance with Aristotle, and since the Unities 
are not Aristotelian, nor in the spirit of Aristotle, there 
remains no point of true contact between the two critics, de¬ 
spite Corneille's long, and painstaking efforts to prove him¬ 
self a devoted disciple of the Master of Criticism. 










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259 


CONCLUSION 


In the preceding ehapters we have endeavored to show the 
relationship between Aristotle’s theory of tragedy and the 
practice of Corneille. In order to do this, we analysed 
first Aristotle's Poetics . and saw that the basis of his 
whole doctrine was Verisimilitude, by which was meant con¬ 
formity to the laws of nature. All other requirements of 
Plot and Character were deduced either from this basic law, 
or from the doctrine of Purgation or Catharsis* The latter 
should mean an arousing in the spectator, of Pity and fear 
so as to lessen the petty, personal element in these emotions, 
and raise them to a point of universality. Above all, we not¬ 
ed that the Poetics was not a dogmatic body of rules, nor was 
it abstract criticism, but rather a commentary on the practice 
of the dramatic poets who had preceded Aristotle's time. 

Between Aristotle's Poetics and the Renaissance commenta¬ 
ries, we mentioned briefly Horace's Are Poetics, which was to 
be fused with the Gree£ treatise. Horace was far more dogma¬ 
tic in his method, and in this respect he prepared the way for 
the Renaissance critics. The most important, far-reaching 
contribution of Horace to dramatic theory was his view of the 
didactic function in Poetry, particularly Tragedy. For Horace, 







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260 

the poet was the great teacher and moral guide of mankind. 

This theory was to be accepted in full by the Kenaissance, 
and passed on to the seventeenth century in Prance. Prom 
our brief study of the Kenaissance critics, we were made 
aware of the vast changes wrought in the original doctrine 
of Aristotle. Verisimilitude became confused with reality; 
all conception of conformity to an ideal was lost. The Aris¬ 
totelian Catharsis was not comprehensible to these rational¬ 
izing critics, and for it was substituted the ethical Pur¬ 
gation of Horace's doc trine,by which the audiences were to be 
freed of the troublesome passions of Pity and Pear. To this 
was added also a new doctrine, the theory of Admiration in 
Tragedy, in which the Renaissance critics saw an effective 
meanB moral uplift. The pseudo-Aristotelian theory of the 
three Unities was constructed and imposed in the name of 
false Verisimilitude. Hot only had the Italian critics fus¬ 
ed the doctrines of the Are Poetica of Horace with the Poetics 
of Aristotle: they had deliberately 'invented' new theories 
and transformed others at will. 

It was this pseudo-Aristotelian doctrine that was intro¬ 
duced into France in the second and third decades of the 
seventeenth century. It met with great favor among the 
critics. The greatest opposition came from the stage managers, 
who were unwilling to cast off the expensive stage-settings 
used in the multiplex scenery for the mystery plays and trage¬ 
dies of the sixteenth century. Through the favor of Cardinal 




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261 


Eichelieu and a few powerful literary patrons, Chapelain and 
his group were about to impose these Italian theories upon 
playwrights and stage-managers alike. The Silvanire of Mairet 
marked the actual introduction of the theories into the 
tragedies themselves. 

Such was the situation in 1630 when Corneille presented 
his first play, M^lite . But, living as he did in Houen, away 
from the literary circles of Paris, Corneille was not at this 
time posted on matters of criticism. In part he was guided 
by his own genius; also, he imitated Hardy, his greatest pre¬ 
decessor on the French stage. In his next plays (before 
Med^e ), Corneille showed an acquaintance with the rule of the 
Unities, although he did not adhere to it in more than half of 
these plays. The Unities alone seem to have composed the sum 
total of dramatic criticism at this time for Corneille, and in 
the prefaces of these early comedies there is no mention of any 
other precept. In K^aee, his first trage y, Corneille showed 
himself a docile imitator of Seneca without any concern for the 
rules, or supposed rules, of Aristotle. The plot, the ’denoue¬ 
ment*, and the character of Uedea, are all contrary to Aris¬ 
totelian requirements. It is apparent that at this time Corneille 
had not come into any very close contact with the critics, now 
had he studied directly the Poetics of Aristotle. 

In our study we have devoted by far the longest chapter to 
the Cid . for with the Cid comes the first great break in Cor¬ 
neille's literary career. In this tragi-comedy (in its treatment 







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262 


more tragedy than comedy), we have seen Corneille's first 
efforts towards creating the psychological drama which he 
was to bring to a high point of perfection in less than a 
decade. The Old gives evidence of the greatest solicitude 
for the Unities, and contains also certain reminiscences 
of Aristotelian doctrine in the handling of the Plot and 
Characters. In making a drama of the 'inner type' from the 
epic, colorful play of De Castro, Corneille was following, 
though no doubt unconsciously, Aristotle's dictum that the 
poet should transform the material furnished him by history 
or legend. Put we have seen that the Cid still retained much 
that was novelistic, much that was tragi-comie. Corneille 
had not yet reached the point of depicting merely 'characters 
in action*, without a background. The characters of the Cid 
are far from Aristotelian: they lack the 'fatal flaw t and 
end triumphantly. Neither the plot nor the characters are 
Aristotelian in the true sense of the term, since both are lack¬ 
ing in Verisimilitude. Already in the Cid, we found that the 
Aristotelian Catharsis had been set aside (if indeed it had 
ever occurred to Corneille), and a new function had been assign¬ 
ed to Tragedy; to arouse the admiration of the audience for the 
characters. This theory of admiration has been attributed to 
Minturno, but Minturno had in mind rather 'wonder* at the poet's 
skill in indention Corneille, on the other hand, arouses admira¬ 
tion for the heroism of hia characters. This was an inherent 
element In his genius and if he invokes the authority of Min- 




263 

tmrno, it 1 b only long after he had produced his lest plays. 
Corneille was certainly unaware of a difference between hie 
use Admiration and Minturno’e term Ammirazione . eo that 
when he adduces the text of Minturno, he is entirely sincere. 
Admiration is an original trait with Corneille and remains 
the outstanding feature of the Cornelian drama. Although his 
contemporaries later wrote plays of the same type, they did 
not recognize that Corneille had definitely crested a new and 
powerful type of tragedy. It was not until 1700 that Boileau 
in a letter to Charles Ferrault (1) recognized the essentially 
original quality of Corneille's genius. Haring admitted, or 
rather asserted, that Corneille was the inventor of a new type 
of tragedy, Boileau explains his position thus: "Car e'est 
sur ce pied, a mon avis, qu'on doit regarder quantite 7 de ses 
plus belles pieces de theatre, ou se mettant au-deasus des 
regies de ce philosophe (2), 11 n'a point songe', comae les 
pontes de l'ancienne tragedie, a emouroir la pitie / et la ter- 
reur, me is a exciter dans l'am© des apectateurs, par la sub- 
limits et par la teaute dee sentiments, une certain© admira¬ 
tion." 

In the CJLd, Corneille had marked out the pathway he was 
to follow in hie career as tragic poet. All his dramas are of 
the 'inner' type, yet with a novelistic element which decreases 
in the masterpieces, but grows again rapidly in importance in 
the romanesque plays such as Kodogune and He'raclius . The charao- 

1. Quoted in Bigal, Be Jodelle a Mollore . p. 287. 

2. Aristotle. 















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264 


ters are heroic, men and women allice, with but few exceptions. 
They react to a neo-Platonic psychology and are guided by a 
1 grandeur d'ame* which makes them superhuman. We hare seen 
in every case that the Cornelian tragedies arouse Admiration 
rather than Pity and Pear, as the natural result of this 
dramatic system. Corneille sought always illustrious, extra¬ 
ordinary incidents, in order that he might set his characters 
in more striking relief. It is the characters themselves 
rather than the situations, which interest Corneille, contrary 
to Aristotle who set Plot above Character. In every funda¬ 
mental matter of theory Corneille is opposed to Aristotle: he 
did not grasp the aesthetic conception of poetry which is at 
the basis of Aristotle's Poetics , nor could he comphehend the 
fatalistic attitude of the Greeks toward Human Kature. But to 
the un-Aristotelian plot and characters, Corneille sought 
always to add one pseudo-Aristotelian element, the Unities. In 
the plays before the Cld . three had conformed to the contem¬ 
porary interpretation of the Unities, and in the Cld , we have 
seen indubitable evidences of the author's solicitude on this 
score. 

In Horace Corneille produced his most Aristotelian play, 
sinoe the 'denouement' was at least half tragic, and Horace 
had a fatal flaw which led him to crime. But even here, we 
saw that Corneille could not make the plot truly Aristotelian, 
since he was un willing to bring his hero to a downfall and 
misery. On account of the more concentrated plot, Corneille 





265 


was enabled to handle the Unities more successfully in this 
play than in the Cid. 

In Clnna . the partially Aristotelian qualities of 
Horace are already gone — there is no longer any fatal flaw 
or frailty in the character of Augustus. The plot has a happy 
ending for all. The admiration we are to feel for Augustus is 
unbounded, and is still further removed from the Pity and 
Pear of Aristotle. 

Polyeucte represents the true perfection of the Cornelian 
tragedy, although Corneille himself did not agree with this 
Judgment. In this play, the 'grandeur d'ame* is counter¬ 
balanced by the human love which Polyeucte feels for Pauline; 
the 'denouement' brings death to the hero, an encing which 
satisfies Aristotelian requirements, and Corneille as well, 
for this death is martyrdom, and martyrdom is a triumph of 
Will. Admiration is certainly the dominant note, yet there is 
still room for some pity and fear for the characters of Pau¬ 
line and Severe. There is still a very real element of 
struggle in the play; it is thoroughly psychological, but not 
abstract - it is stifl dramatic. It is in this play also that 
the Unities are observed most perfectly and with least strain- 
ing. 

After Polyeucte , the supreme effort towards the classic 
ideal, Corneille brought back into Tragedy those very elements 

which he had banished from it in his masterpieces after the 

/ 

Cid . Pomoee already foreshadows the series of later plays in 









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which the characters seem mere automatons, entirely lacking 
the flexibility and nany-Bidedness of real human beings. 
Theodore showed clearly Corneille’s new tendencies. Instead 
of being another Polyeucte . Theodore was a miserable fail¬ 
ure, due largely to the rigidity of the heroine who possess¬ 
ed no human qualities. In addition to this error, another 
one was creeping back, upon Corneille: a natural fondness for 
the romanesque. This predilection was evidenced in Theodore 
by the combining of two legends to make a fuller, more com¬ 
plicated plot. The tendency towards romanesque plots be¬ 
came very marked in Koflofrune and in Heracliua . where the 
situations presented were most *invrai8emtlables , . let here 
still, the Unities were observed -- the one inriolatle rule. 

Don Sanche continues the same type of romanesque plot, to 
which is now added a very conscious effort to arouse admira¬ 
tion for the hero. Uicom^de is the culmination of this theory 
of the 'grandeur d'ame*, which Corneille had been developing 
since he wrote Horace and Cinna . It would not perhaps be 
justifiable to say that he had this doctrine in mind when he 
wrote the Cid . 

A tendency towards, and fondness for, romanesque compli¬ 
cated plots, with happy enr f ings; heroic, superhuman characters, 
arousing, not Pity and Fear, but Admiration - such are the 
inherent elements of Corneille's genius, reflected in the 
majority of his tragedies. These were the qualities most ad¬ 
mired by the generation of Louis XIII - the same generation 












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267 


which enjoyed d’Urfe and La Calprenede, v.hich applauded 
Conde and Richlieu, and produced Peecertes. Corneille was 
a writer of his day and reflected faithfully the tastes of 
his audiences. When hie audiences had changed, as they 
had when Corneille returned to the stage in 1669 with 
_CEd ipe . Corneille was faced with a series of failures. It 
is not just to state that Bacine's rise in public favor 
sounded the death-knell to Corneille. A more correct state¬ 
ment is that the same circumstances which led to Corneille’s 
downfall, led to Bacine’s success. Corneille’s day had 
passed even before the appearance of Andromaque . or the un¬ 
fortunate competition over Tite et Berenice . As is splendid¬ 
ly stated by Professor Hitze (1): "The world-empire of Louis 
XIV was not romaneeque but real, its dramas were externally 
unheroic in order to be internally the more intense.” With 
the transition from the Age of Louis XIII to the Age of 
Louis XIV, Corneille, the exponent of Human Will, was forced 
to give way to Hacine, the exponent of Human Sentiment. Ha- 
cine was innately Aristotelian; he needed no lessons from 
the critics. 

Corneille, on the other hand, was in opposition, by 
temperament, education, and environment, to the Aristotelian 
conception of Tragedy. In a strict classification of Cor¬ 
neille’s dramas, according to Aristotle’s requirements, none 
1. Nitze and Pajgan, o£. cit ., p. 254, 






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268 


would be rightly called a tragedy, save perhaps Polyenete 

and Theodore . The others are heroic comedies, as Corneille 

himself termed Don Sanche. Having failed to grasp the 

meaning of Poetic Truth, of the Aristotelian /Catharsis, it 

* 

was inevitable that Corneille should miss the import of 
Aristotle's more specific requirements for Plot and Charac¬ 
ter. The text of the Greek Poetics had become known to Cor¬ 
neille through the Italian commentators, who, long before 
its appearance in France, hod quite transformed the Aris- 
totelain doctrine. So strong were the influence and pres¬ 
tige of the Renaissance critics in France at this period, 
that it never occurred to Corneille when he formulated his 
own dramatic theories, to question their interpretations 
of Aristotle's words, nor even the several additions, which 
he recognized as such, made to the Greek test by the Italian 
commentators, Corneille accepted unquestioningly all the 
dogmatic precepts as they had originally been laid down by 
Scaliger and by Castelvetro, and resorted to these and other 
Italian critics when unable to justify his own practice from 
Aristotle's text. It cannot however be proven to any very 
great extent, whether Corneille actually took his theories 
from the Italian critics, or whether he merely used them in 
justification of doctrines which he had formulated in large 
part for himself.(1) 

1. The article by Prof. Colbert Searles entitled "Corneille 
and the Italian Doctrinaires" ( Mod . Phil . XIII (.1916) pp. 
169-179) has shown in detail the similarities between cer¬ 
tain passages from Corneille and the corresponding ones in 
the Italian critics. Put Prof. Searles does not push too 
far the contention that Corneille took even these passages 
from the different Italian critics. 







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269 


The Discoure and ^>amens we found to te a curious mix¬ 
ture of deference towards Aristotle and his commentators 
(whom Corneille never separates unless the differences of 
doctrine be very striking), and of justification of his own 
practice where it was very obviously divergent from the 
established theories. The inevitable result was that the 
body of Corneille's theoretic writings presents neither a 
unified and coherent doctrine of dramatic writing, nor a 
true analysis of his own tragedies. 

It is because Corneille learned Aristotle through the 
commentaries of the Italian critics, that he was led into 
so many erroneous interpretations of the text of the Greek 
Pojeticai. The original Corneille without the pressure of 

*les doctee’, would certainly not have b een truly Aris¬ 
totelian, tut when we remember what he says as to his "sens 
commun" in the -Stamen to Melite . we are led to belfceve that 
this same "sens commun”, had it been left unhampered, would 
have brought the poet to greater Versimilitude than he did 
attain, guided as he was by the misinterpretations of Aris¬ 
totle. If Verisimilitude is the basis of Aristotle's doc¬ 
trine, we are justified in saying that Corneille would have 
been more essentially Aristotelian, had he never studied Aris¬ 
totle. 







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et d'autres Jdcornteurs--*3U VII © 









































1 •; ...... .. 




. 1 ‘ t 






















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Cid", U. L. N., XIII (1896), pp. 393-409. 

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>£. 
















































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to, ts of Fraoastoro, Keineius, M&ggi, 
or Botortelli. Heferences to these 
critics have been taken from such 
writers as Spingarn and oaintslury. 























: . . UtfX) , .XI ' .i- . 3 

■ 


. —* , - • ■ 




































